The basis of the story of Alraune dates to the Middles Ages in Germany. The humanoid-shaped Mandrake root or Mandragora officinarum was widely believed to be produced by the semen of hanged men under the gallows. Alchemists claimed that hanged men ejaculated after their necks were broken and that the earth absorbed their final "strengths". In some versions, it is blood instead of semen. The root itself was used in love philtres and potions while its fruit was supposed to facilitate pregnancy. Witches who "made love" to the Mandrake root were said to produce offspring which had no feelings of real love and had no soul.
The novel deviates from the myth by concentrating on the issues of artificial insemination and individuality: genetics versus environment. A scientist, Professor Jakob ten Brinken, interested in the laws of heredity, impregnates a prostitute in a laboratory with the semen of a hanged murderer. The prostitute conceives a female child who has no concept of love, whom the professor adopts. The girl, Alraune, suffers from obsessive sexuality and perverse relationships throughout her life. She learns of her unnatural origins and she avenges herself against the professor.
Hanns Heinz Ewers (1871-1943) was a German actor, poet, philosopher, and writer of short stories and novels. While he wrote on a wide range of subjects, he is today known chiefly for his works of horror, particularly his trilogy of novels centered around the adventures of Frank Braun, a character modeled not too loosely on himself.
"Alraune" (1911) can be quite a mixed bag of nuts, but I think this provocative, disturbing, and thoughtful scifi fantasy romance may be worth your time.
The opening chapters are sheer Radium-Age genius! We are treated to a single night in the crumbling white house of the Gontram family, and it is quite a delight of European eccentricities and dark humor, with cigar-chewing babies, a most unusual pair of princesses, and two of the laziest lawyers you'll ever meet. The whole night is written in such lovely rhetoric that it's blackened beauty borders on madness, all the more enhanced by the macabre two-tone illustrations of a pajama-clad guest curled up with his midget dog on a luscious canopy bed, and a deliciously creepy parlor scene bordered in rich tassels, heavy curtains, and fractals of paisley salon wallpaper, all in glorious purple and black. If you enjoy the work of Edward Gorey, you'll love the 1929 drawings by Mahlon Blaine. And if you appreciate eeriely sublime humor, the word craft here will send wonderful chills up your spine, from the depiction of a skeletal mother singing melancholy Woloochian lullabies while decked out like a faded Cruella to a father with ink-stained fingers full of lies that everyone somehow wants to hear bitching about there being no champagne left in the cellar. Death and mental illness hangs in the air heavy with cigar smoke, yet the family and their friends seem delightfully happy in their dysfunctional morbid lives, like the Addams family on laudanum.
And this is only my thoughts on the first few pages! But does the rest of it hold water?
Essentially, "Alraune" is inspired by the ultimate masterpiece of scifi horror, "Frankenstein," only in this case the monster is a woman of exceptional beauty. Her name, Alraune, harkens to German legend regarding the mandrake root which was believed to grow from the ejaculate of hanged criminals that spills into the earth. In the book, Alraune is the creation of semen from a hanged man and a prostitute. Yes, you heard me right. Just makes you want to run out and buy this book right now, doesn't it?
For me, one of the most disturbing series of scenes involved the treatment of the prostitute that would become the subject of experiments that would lead to Alraune's birth. The book doesn't get around to the actual birth of the titular character until almost the halfway point, but once she grows up, you can't help but start making Frankenstein comparisons immediately. People run in fear from the creation of Frankenstein, but here people are drawn to Alraune like flies to honey and are easily bent to her will, even if it is to their own detriment. But like the Frankenstein monster, her behavior is only as bad as those around her. As noted brilliantly by fellow Goodreads reviewer Randolph, she serves as a mirror for the sins of others.
If you already thought "Alraune" was a simply a gender-swapped "Frankenstein," you may be surprised to learn how gender-fluid Alraune really is. It is possible that Ewers was satirizing and trolling the "homosexual panic" of the Weimar Republic. She is often described as having the appearance of a slender boy, wears masculine clothing, seduces and dominates other women, and is even referred to with male pronouns.
I hope I've given you an idea of just how wild of a ride "Alraune" can be, no matter what version or language. I can't help but wonder if Trent Reznor had this story in the back of his mind when writing his industrial classic "Reptile," and even if he didn't, that song would make a good audio companion piece to this deranged answer to all things wholesome.
My main issue with the book was the character of Frank Braun, who is the young male "protagonist" in this and an entire trilogy of stories which center around him. He is an absolute ass. He barges in to people's homes unannounced with a ton of his drunken friends and demands the servants prepare a feast. He treats women as sexual conquests and is overall snippy and sarcastic to everyone around him. He is rude to others while being thin-skinned--he cannot tolerate the slightest perception of criticism inflicted upon him. He lies and manipulates constantly. He's lazy and basically throws away his legal training, preferring to act like a spoiled college student living off a trust fund. He ends up rightfully in prison for two years and takes advantage of the freedoms he is allowed and whines about not having any privacy, poor baby. He's even the one who convinces his uncle to make the alraune monster, seemingly for no reason whatsoever. I suppose for a novel about the consequences of debauchery, excess, and narcissism, he fit right in, but I would never be able to read about him in two more books if he's written the same way.
The author supposedly based Braun off of his own personality, if that tells you anything about Ewers himself. Ewers was evidently not a fan of the United States, and he has been associated with some legendary, if not partly fictional, exploits such as working with Pancho Villa in raiding the southern border. He was briefly a member of the National Socialist German Worker's Party which supported Nazism, and Hitler himself asked Ewers to pen a biography of the Nazi martyr Horst Wessel. His pro-Semite stance and bisexuality eventually led to his downfall in the eyes of Hitler's regime.
For this review I read the Joe E. Bandel version, which contains an absolutely hilarious preface describing the difficulties of translating this work that alone is worth reading. Though I get the impression that I wouldn't much care for Bandel's typical brand of anarchist work, I give full kudos to him as translator for capturing the emotional depth, sumptuous poetry, and dark humor of Heinz Ewers from the original German. Overall, I'd say this is a delightful refresher of the 1929 U.S. edition which had been translated by Guy Endore, the author of one of my favorite books, "Werewolf of Paris." Both Endore's version and the Bandel edition are available on Kindle.
But no matter what you think of the creator or the translator, "Alraune" is a true classic of Radium-Age science fiction and Jazz-Age horror for good reason. That being said, this is certainly not for everyone. It goes down as easy as a cocktail glass of warm kümmel garnished with a dusty onion while soaking in a rusty claw foot tub with green tentacles peeking from the overflow drain. If you are offended by extreme content, human depravity, and sexual decadence, this may not be the book for you. But if you are at all curious at this point, it's probably worth checking out, and it is sure to creep out and delight lovers of the weird.
That decadent vibe -- I just love it and this book is filled with it. Alraune brings together a bit of the grotesque, the perverse, and all manner of weirdness that appeals, but when all is said and done, it's the German style of decadence that resonates. It is Ewers' second entry in his Frank Braun trilogy, between The Sorcerer's Apprentice and Vampire, neither of which I've read. Alraune is another word for mandrake, the legends of which go way back in history, but for our purposes, it's the German version told in this book that's relevant:
"The criminal stripped naked as a pair of tongs and hanged at the crossroads, lost, so the story goes, his final seed, the moment his neck was broken. This seed falls to the ground and there germinates. Thence resonates an alraune, either a little man or a little woman."
To understand how this old legend fits here, you can take a peek at my reading journal entry; otherwise, what I'll say here is that Alraune is downright weird, and its sheer weirdness is augmented by the original drawings by Mahlon Blaine. By now everyone knows I have a thing for really strange books and that I love old books -- Alraune is a lovely but bizarre blend of both. Try at your own risk -- it is certainly meant more for readers who appreciate the decadent aesthetic and frankly, it's just plain odd, but it definitely crawled under my skin and hasn't left.
Das ist von Anfang an reißerisch und an niedere Instinkte appellierend, und dennoch ganz wunderbar. Die Beschreibung dieser illustren Gesellschaft aus Personen, die wichtige Ämter (Geheimrat, Justizrat, Professor) oder Adelstitel innehalten und gleichzeitig dermaßen verdorben sind, trinken, rauchen, huren, lügen, Intrigen spinnen... Geschrieben 1911 erinnern mich diese Szenen an die erst nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg entstandenen Bilder von George Grosz. Die Dialoge sind teilweise (auf gelungene Weise) so theatralisch, dass man sie als Zwischentitel für alte Stummfilme verwenden könnte (und sicher verwendet hat, da das Buch häufig und sehr früh verfilmt wurde).
Gleichzeitig wird auf zeitgenössische Ereignisse Bezug genommen: In der nicht näher benannten Stadt am Rhein (vermutlich Bonn, auf jeden Fall zwischen Köln und Koblenz) soll das Bürgerliche Gesetzbuch in Kürze das Rheinische Recht (also die Beibehaltung von Napoleons Code Civile im 19. Jahrhundert) ablösen. Dies passierte gegen 1900, also kann man davon ausgehen, dass die Handlung kurz vor der Jahrhundertwende einsetzt.
Bezeichnenderweise findet sich in dieser Region keine passende Dirne für die künstliche Befruchtung und muss daher im verdorbenen Berlin gefunden werden. Das erinnert an die Geschichte eines anderen künstlichen Geschöpfs: Der Schweizer Wissenschaftler Victor Frankenstein musste ja auch sein Land auch verlassen, um im deutschen Ingolstadt sein Monster zu erschaffen. Und nicht nur Mary Shelley stand hier Pate, auch Théophile Gautier wird direkt zitiert.
Der affektierte, erotisch-schwülstige Stil würde bei einem Roman heute unglaublich nerven, hier aber amüsiert es eher und lässt sich auch als Ausdruck einer bestimmten Zeit lesen. Nicht zuletzt die Figur der Alraune, einer androgynen Femme fatale, Vamp und nicht zuletzt Vampirin, greift verschiedene literarische Frauenbilder der Zeit auf. Und sowohl auf Männer als auch Frauen ist ihre Anziehungskraft besonders groß, wenn sie in männliche Maskeraden schlüpft.
Ob die männliche Hauptfigur Frank Braun, der wohl auch in zwei anderen Romanen Ewers im Mittelpunkt steht, wirklich wie oft behauptet das Alter Ego des Autors ist, mag stimmen oder auch nicht. Interessanter an Ewers als Person ist, dass er zwar erfolgreicher Autor war, von Kollegen aber gerade zu geschmäht wurde (siehe Franz Bleis Beschreibung in seinem Großen Bestiarum); dass er sich einerseits für die Gleichberechtigung der Juden engagierte, aber andererseits frühzeitig Anhänger der Nazis wurde, aber im NS-Regime auch schnell in Ungnade fiel. Eine interessante, schillernde Persönlichkeit, die ein ebenso schillerndes Werk hinterließ.
The first third of this novel is biting satire, crowded with inconceivably pretty ugly caricatures and steeped in the blackest humor — a five-star reading pleasure beyond all doubts.
Then comes Alraune, and the story gets a little repetitive. Alraune [German for mandrake b.t.w.] grows up to become a nymph, a page, a siren, or a vampire. Whatever your desires are, she's there to fulfill them, unless she doesn't want to. She's the walking aphrodisiac for anyone who meets her, everybody's darling, a seductress par excellence. And she knows it and takes advantage of it. When she says "come" you come, and when she says "go" you go. And you do it gladly either way. It's Alraune after all. When she says "do it", you do it, whatever "it" may mean for you or other people. That kind of girl. But...it's not really her fault. I cannot blame her. I'm happy to have had a glimpse on her. It's Alraune after all!
"Alraune" (1911) can be quite a mixed bag of nuts, but I think this provocative, disturbing, and thoughtful scifi fantasy romance may be worth your time.
The opening chapters are sheer Radium-Age genius! We are treated to a single night in the crumbling white house of the Gontram family, and it is quite a delight of European eccentricities and dark humor, with cigar-chewing babies, a most unusual pair of princesses, and two of the laziest lawyers you'll ever meet. The whole night is written in such lovely rhetoric that it's blackened beauty borders on madness, all the more enhanced by the macabre two-tone illustrations of a pajama-clad guest curled up with his midget dog on a luscious canopy bed, and a deliciously creepy parlor scene bordered in rich tassels, heavy curtains, and fractals of paisley salon wallpaper, all in glorious purple and black. If you enjoy the work of Edward Gorey, you'll love the 1929 drawings by Mahlon Blaine. And if you appreciate eeriely sublime humor, the word craft here will send wonderful chills up your spine, from the depiction of a skeletal mother singing melancholy Woloochian lullabies while decked out like a faded Cruella to a father with ink-stained fingers full of lies that everyone somehow wants to hear bitching about there being no champagne left in the cellar. Death and mental illness hangs in the air heavy with cigar smoke, yet the family and their friends seem delightfully happy in their dysfunctional morbid lives, like the Addams family on laudanum.
And this is only my thoughts on the first few pages! But is the rest of it hold water?
Essentially, "Alraune" is inspired by the ultimate masterpiece of scifi horror, "Frankenstein," only in this case the monster is a woman of exceptional beauty. Her name, Alraune, harkens to German legend regarding the mandrake root which was believed to grow from the ejaculate of hanged criminals that spills into the earth. In the book, Alraune is the creation of semen from a hanged man and a prostitute. Yes, you heard me right. Just makes you want to run out and buy this book right now, doesn't it?
For me, one of the most disturbing series of scenes involved the treatment of the prostitute that would become the subject of experiments that would lead to Alraune's birth. The book doesn't get around to the actual birth of the titular character until almost the halfway point, but once she grows up, you can't help but start making Frankenstein comparisons immediately. People run in fear from the creation of Frankenstein, but here people are drawn to Alraune like flies to honey and are easily bent to her will, even if it is to their own detriment. But like the Frankenstein monster, her behavior is only as bad as those around her. As noted brilliantly by fellow Goodreads reviewer Randolph, she serves as a mirror for the sins of others.
If you already thought "Alraune" was a simply a gender-swapped "Frankenstein," you may be surprised to learn how gender-fluid Alraune really is. It is possible that Ewers was satirizing and trolling the "homosexual panic" of the Weimar Republic. She is often described as having the appearance of a slender boy, wears masculine clothing, seduces and dominates other women, and is even referred to with male pronouns.
I hope I've given you an idea of just how wild of a ride "Alraune" can be, no matter what version or language. I can't help but wonder if Trent Reznor had this story in the back of his mind when writing his industrial classic "Reptile," and even if he didn't, that song would make a good audio companion piece to this deranged answer to all things wholesome.
My main issue with the book was the character of Frank Braun, who is the young male "protagonist" in this and an entire trilogy of stories which center around him. He is an absolute ass. He barges in to people's homes unannounced with a ton of his drunken friends and demands the servants prepare a feast. He treats women as sexual conquests and is overall snippy and sarcastic to everyone around him. He is rude to others while being thin-skinned--he cannot tolerate the slightest perception of criticism inflicted upon him. He lies and manipulates constantly. He's lazy and basically throws away his legal training, preferring to act like a spoiled college student living off a trust fund. He ends up rightfully in prison for two years and takes advantage of the freedoms he is allowed and whines about not having any privacy, poor baby. He's even the one who convinces his uncle to make the alraune monster, seemingly for no reason whatsoever. I suppose for a novel about the consequences of debauchery, excess, and narcissism, he fit right in, but I would never be able to read about him in two more books if he's written the same way.
The author supposedly based Braun off of his own personality, if that tells you anything about Ewers himself. Ewers was evidently not a fan of the United States, and he has been associated with some legendary, if not partly fictional, exploits such as working with Pancho Villa in raiding the southern border. He was briefly a member of the National Socialist German Worker's Party which supported Nazism, and Hitler himself asked Ewers to pen a biography of the Nazi martyr Horst Wessel. His pro-Semite stance and bisexuality eventually led to his downfall in the eyes of Hitler's regime.
For this review I read the Joe E. Bandel version, which contains an absolutely hilarious preface describing the difficulties of translating this work that alone is worth reading. Though I get the impression that I wouldn't much care for Bandel's typical brand of brand of anarchist work, I give full kudos to him as translator for capturing the emotional depth, sumptuous poetry, and dark humor of Heinz Ewers from the original German. Overall, I'd say this is a delightful refresher of the 1929 U.S. edition which had been translated by the author of one of my favorite books, "Werewolf of Paris," Guy Endore. Both Endore's version and the Bandel edition are available on Kindle.
But no matter what you think of the creator or the translator, "Alraune" is a true classic of Radium-Age science fiction and Jazz-Age horror for good reason. That being said, this is certainly not for everyone. It goes down as easy as a cocktail glass of warm kümmel garnished with a dusty onion while soaking in a rusty claw foot tub with green tentacles peeking from the overflow drain. If you are offended by extreme content, human depravity, and sexual decadence, this may not be the book for you. But if you are at all curious at this point, it's probably worth checking out, and it is sure to creep out and delight lovers of the weird.
Tutti noi ricordiamo le amabili mandragole urlanti nella classe di Erbologia a Hogwarts, eppure la Madragora Officinarum ha anche una sua raccapricciante leggenda tedesca, che sembrerebbe risalire all'alto Medioevo. Come nascono i poteri della mandragola, e i suoi pericolosi e insidiosi utilizzi, ce lo racconta l'ambiguo Hanns Heinz Ewers in questo inquietante 'Alraune (mandragola in tedesco, ndr). La storia di un essere vivente', che "ripercorre il concepimento, la nascita e la vita di una creatura artificiale, sulle tracce dei miti dell'Homunculus o del Golem", recita sinistramente la quarta di copertina.
A unique work of fiction from an intelligent author.
The mystery that surrounds the plant Mandragora officinarum (mandrake plant) is beautifully crafted into a thrilling fiction that leaves the main character (Alraune) haunt you for long.
"It was a common folklore in some countries that mandrake (the plant - Mandragora officinarum ) would only grow where the semen of a hanged man had dripped on to the ground; this would appear to be the reason for the methods employed by the alchemists who "projected human seed into animal earth". In Germany, the plant is known as the Alraune: the novel (later adapted as a film) Alraune by Hanns Heinz Ewers is based on a soul-less woman conceived from a hanged man's semen, the title referring to this myth of the mandrake's origins."
I first became acquainted with the existence of ALRAUNE in issue # 7 of the magazine, "Van Helsing's Journal" and it inspired me to make my first "collector's book" purchase. The story was fascinating, unsettling, and possessed the most wicked wit I had experienced in a very long time. I understand that H. P. Lovecraft was a fan and I can see the influence.
The author was a prolific writer of novels, short stories, plays and essays that often dealt with occult and erotic themes. Although I had never heard of him, ALRAUNE is his one work that seems to have stayed lurking in the shadows, probably because of the different screen versions that have appeared (and disappeared) through the years.
The wildly fantastic plot involves a biologist who has been experimenting with a root that has the appearance of a human form, and that is found growing beneath execution sites where the bodily fluids of dying murderers saturate the ground. His demented scheme is to fertilize the plant with the blood of a prostitute to create a "living alraune" that grows into a human social predator.
Poor Alraune develops into a seductress whose influence over other hapless creatures is like a force of nature. Along the way, there are laugh out loud commentaries on societal rituals that hide under the guise of propriety, but are actually used for enhancing personal gain.
Written in 1911, I am amazed at the storytelling power this holds today. I've never read anything like it before or since. It maintains the delicate balance between what will happen next, social criticism, and the driest wit this side of Oscar Wilde or Groucho Marx. There have been few books that I've enjoyed as much as this one.
So, jetzt habe ich also meinen ersten Roman von Hanns Heinz Ewers gelesen, dessen spätere Anbiederung an den Nationalsozialismus sich unter anderem in seiner Horst Wessel-Hagiographie zum Ausdruck bringt, und die spätere Rezeption stark bestimmt. Ganz frei machen kann ich mich davon sicherlich nicht.
Alraune, der zweite Teil der Trilogie um Frank Braun (angeblich ein recht deutliches Alter Ego des Autors), ist deutlich von Dekadenz und Ästhetizismus des Fin-de-Siècle aber auch vom Expressionismus beeinflusst. So sehr mir ja grundsätzlich die ästhetizistische Haltung zusagt und ich die Phantastik dieser Zeit, insbesondere der Wiener Moderne liebe – mit diesem Roman kann ich überhaupt nicht warm werden.
Schon bei der Prämisse ist mir viel zu unkritisch aus den Degenerationstheorien entlehnt worden. Dazu kommt die arg harsche Porträtierung des „Geschlechterkampfes“ mit seinen harten Burschen, perversen Alten und sexgeilen Femme Fatales. Den findet man zwar genauso misogyn auch bei Wedekind und seiner Lulu, da aber wenigstens noch reizvoll aufgearbeitet und halbwegs ambivalent präsentiert. Schließlich noch eine Burschenschaftsromantik, die mir zuwider ist (auch wenn sie bei Ewers Hintergrund nicht zu verwundern braucht) – nein, da sind mir Meyrink, Kafka, Perutz, Kubin, Lernet-Holenia usw. usf. tausendmal lieber...
Innecesariamente largo, predecible y con personajes poco memorables. El planteamiento general del libro como ficción trágica del horror (grotesco) es inicialmente interesante, aunque después desaparece entre una inmensa banalidad de cotilleos, chismes, metáforas cursis y estupideces noveleras propias de las cortes aristócratas. Al día de hoy, solamente recuerdo a Alraune y a Frank, y no podría describirlos muy bien. El resto de personajes no sé quiénes son (y no me importa)... Esos numerosos personajes sobran en tediosas escenas, no agregan nada sino un castigo al lector. Lo que más disfruté fue lo rico del vocabulario del escritor y las referencias culturales generales que hace. A juzgar por el resto de buenas reseñas, podría admitir que simplemente no fue un libro para mi gusto, sino para el de muchos otros.
Reseña: https://www.fabulantes.com/2018/07/ma... "Ewers fue un declarado lector y admirador de Edgar Allan Poe y esa huella se nota en Mandrágora, pero también se siente en las páginas de este libro la presencia literaria de Baudelaire, Heine, Hoffmann, D’Annunzio o incluso de su alabado Oscar Wilde. En Ewers, el costumbrismo se acuesta con lo extravagante y de tal coyunda nace lo grotesco, pero sin renunciar a ese aroma terrible y poeniano. Louis Pauwels y Jacques Bergier llegaron a definir a Ewers como “el Lovecraft alemán”, por esa capacidad para apuntar en sus escritos la existencia de negros poderes, subyacentes a las aparentemente evolucionadas sociedades occidentales y capaces de eliminar la voluntad del ser humano más fuerte y sumirlo en la locura".
I really love it when I arbitrarily come across a book that is little known, but fantastic and I think Alraune definitely qualifies.
This is once again a translation and I truly hope that the language in the original was faithfully translated because that would mean Ewers was a tremendously gifted writer. I'd also hazard a guess that Mr. Ewers was something of a character as well. The novel is blatantly sensual and morally querulous.
This was really a fantastic read. I'm so glad I came across it!
This was on the TBR pile for many years. What surprised me is that this novel is a much more "fun" read than I expected. It's true, this novel is full of slow spots, even some padding I would argue, but there are many others which are (and I hate the phrase) page-turners. And while I wouldn't call this novel "frightening," some scenes are...violating, for lack of a better word. The chapter a third in where Alraune is "conceived" is truly shocking and horrible.
If this isn't THE German decadent novel, it's certainly in its company. This novel was likely very scandalous in its day, and the introduction informs us that the first English translation watered it down considerably. It dips its toe into androgyny, homosexuality and much more. And the plot itself is quite debased and gross; bored aristocrats using a prostitute for a "scientific experiment" more out of a whim than for science, and using the justice system to aid them. There's other villainous, shocking details I won't give away, but this book is full of despicable people and Ewers excels in describing scenes of overflowing opulence and disturbing and lecherous perversions.
Unfortunately I cannot say this is a lost gem that needs to be snatched up and voraciously read or you're missing out a masterpiece of classic horror fiction. This book has many long sections on entangled inheritances and money matters during which the tension doesn't just fall slack, it disappears entirely. Much of what I didn't like contains spoilers, so...
“La Mandrágora” forma parte de la trilogía de novelas sobre las aventuras de Frank Braun, un personaje en el que se inspiró a partir de sí mismo. Publicada en 1911, la base de la historia de Alraune data de la Edad Media en Alemania. La raíz de mandrágora con forma humanoide, se creía ampliamente que era producido por el semen de los ejecutados en la horca. A partir de estas premisas, el autor se aparta del mito y crea una historia fascinante, vibrante y con un halo de erotismo que envuelve esa magnífica atmósfera de perversidad. Un autor considerado “maldito” que a mi me ha conquistado y que seguiré leyendo sin ninguna duda.
Segunda parte de la trilogia de Frank Braum de Ewers, aunque los tres libros se pueden leer de forma autoconclusiva. Todos tienen por protagonista a Frank Braum, un joven rico que se dedica a viajar por el mundo saciando su interés por el ocultismo y realizando barrabasadas que se le van de las manos. Si en el «aprendiz de brujo» transformaba en lunáticos a los habitantes de un pueblo creando una degenerada versión del cristianismo, en esta «Mandragora» creará a una joven tan bella como mortal mezclando el semen de un ahorcado y a una prostituta como madre. Alraune, el fruto de esa union, llevará a la ruina a la gente que le rodea y el mismo Frank Braun tendrá que hacerle frente cuando vea el ser que ha creado. El estilo de Ewers,tan clásico como grotesco , es genial. Uno de los autores de terror menos conocido y com una biografía tan extrema como sus propias novelas,como aprendemos en esta genial edición de Valdemar.
Cuando se aborda el genero fantastico sobrenatural, el clásico, el de monstruos que nos estremecían, nos vienen rapidamente a la mente Frankenstein, Dracula, la Momia, el jinete sin cabeza, el golem, nosferatu hombres lobo de diversa índole, incluso, a veces, al fantasma de la Opera (el cual no se porque se le engloba junto a estos, cuando el unico pecado que cometio fue ser feo de cojones); en resumen, se nos vienen a la mente los monstruos de las barrocas películas de serie B de la Hammer, o el gran Vincent Price o Christopher Lee, que dignificaron el genero hasta un punto inabordable. Pero, les aseguro que nadie les mencionara a Alraune, la mandragora, la mujer cuya atracción lleva a cualquier hombre a la perdición. Reseña completa aquí: http://gymnopedieygnossiennes.blogspo...
Hmm, bardzo trudna pozycja do oceny. Z jednej strony momentami niesamowity, czarowny klimat i super wdrożenie czytelnika w cuda średniowiecznego folkloru. Z drugiej bardzo lekkie i ironiczne przedstawienie losów ofiar wielu obrzydliwych czynów opisanych w książce, co strasznie mnie odrzuciło, szczególnie na początku, gdzie jest tego naprawdę dużo.
Die Geschichte ist interessant, der Schreibstil etwas fragwürdig: Teilweise holprig, mit Grammatikfehlern, teilweise fast unerträglich kitschig. Es gibt kurze Passagen, die gewissermaßen Briefe an ein "blondgelocktes Schwesterlein" darstellen, die mit der Handlung nichts zu tun haben, aber unglaublich schwülstig und verdreht geschrieben sind. Der Sinn dieser Passagen erschließt sich mir nicht.
Die (damals) skandalöse Handlung beginnt damit, dass auf einer Feier die Legende der Alraune erzählt wird. (Dass sie dadurch entsteht, dass der letzte Samen eines gehängten Mörders auf die fruchtbare Erde trifft und dass die Alraunenwurzel einerseits großen finanziellen Erfolg bringt, andererseits auch großes Unglück mit sich bringt.) Der liederliche Student Frank Braun bringt seinen reichen, skrupellosen Onkel Geheimrat Ten Brinken auf die Idee, selber durch künstliche Befruchtung ein Alraunenwesen zu schaffen: Man brauche dazu nur den Samen eines zum Tode verurteilten Straftäters und als Mutter eine möglichst verdorbene Hure.
Das Experiment gelingt, das Mädchen Alraune wird geboren und vom Geheimrat adoptiert. Sie bringt ihm tatsächlich sehr viel Glück in finanzieller Hinsicht, allerdings besitzt das schöne Mädchen auch eine eigenartige Bosheit...
Mir hat gefallen, wie die Personen der Handlung geschildert wurden (teilweise kam dabei auch ein etwas boshafter Humor zum Vorschein). Die Geschichte ist wie gesagt interessant, auch wenn ich den Schreibstil nicht sehr gelungen fand.
Die Passagen, die die Briefe an das "blonde Schwesterlein" bildeten fand ich völlig überflüssig und nervtötend.
Aufmerksam bin ich auf diesen eigenartigen Klassiker geworden durch ein Hörspiel aus der Serie "Gruselkabinett". Wer nicht die ca 5 - 6 Stunden Lesezeit investieren will, kann sich dieses Hörspiel zu Gemüte führen :-) Ich bin dadurch allerdings erst auf das Buch neugierig geworden.
At the beginning of the 20th century a small group of unscrupulous people want to make the legend around the mystical plant Mandragora officinarum, better known as Alraune, come true. Therefore a sex murderer's sperm and a willing prostitute have to be procured. Nine months later a girl, who is calling Alraune, is born.
This audioplay based on the book "Alraune" written by Hanns Heinz Ewers, published in 1911. Since the publication various film adaptations have been produced. And also Titania Media had ventured to tackle this work. Contrary to the other audio plays by Titania Media I have not been too fond at this one. This is not a fault in the realization, rather it is the story I didn't really like. The idea of creating an artificial human like Mary Shelley's Frankenstein or Fritz Lang's Metropolis appealed to me very much. I do love scifi stories about topics of this kind. Unfortunately it's taken too far to the extreme. The first half you're full of anticipation. But then ... homoeroticism, sadism, masochism, necrophilia, vampirism, pedophilia ... why so much? One or two of them very well made would have been enough.
Like always the narrator ensemble convinced with his professionalism. One of the highlights for me was the small role of my favourite voice actor Pascal Breuer as Dr. Karl Petersen. It was really interesting to hear him in the role of the submissive stuttering servant. Normally he's narrating either the badass villain or the arrogant aristocrat. But he has done his job very well! Music and sound effects was directed as economically and efficiently as you could.
I think the whole story divides up the opinions and everyone is entitled to form its own view on that. So, go listen to it! In all cases it's a valuable experience!
This was the first work I'd ever read by Ewers, and while I knew his reputation as a shocking and somewhat scandalous weird fiction writer, I didn't really know what to expect. I had read that this was a take on the Frankenstein story, and in a sense it is, but it is not merely a retelling in a different context. The psychological and folkloric vein it taps -- and the new thing it produces -- is quite deep and rich.
Ewers does a wonderful job of laying out the uncanny in a gradual, subtlely foreboding process that makes one doubt that it actually is uncanny, until you are utterly convinced and shaken by it. It is, however, entirely possible to read this book without assuming anything supernatural. Most of the characters, even the victims (and everyone in this story ends up a victim), are gigantically flawed, so it's easy to see how their appetites and failings, combined with the suggestive power of lingering superstition (and even of guilt), could have led to their downfall without invoking magic, curses, or heavenly retribution. And yet...
The protagonist, Frank Braun, is a disturbingly compelling character. He seems so real, so alive, so magnetic that you can't help but like him, even though you recognize that he's loathsome: a liar, a philanderer, and a mostly amoral nihilist. Presumably he is so vividly imagined because he is based on the author, but whatever the reason, he attains a stature and a degree of development that is practically unheard of in this genre filled with interchangeable, stage prop characters.
"Más adelante se decía que el recién nacido, una niña, dio, casi en el vientre de la madre todavía, un grito extraordinario, tan violento y tan agudo, que ni los médicos, ni la partera que asistía, recordaban haber oído nunca nada semejante."
La pretensión de la sinopsis de reivindicar la posición de esta novela olvidada como una de las grandes novelas de fantasía gótica es absurda. Entiendo que de alguna manera tienen que vender el libro, pero vaya disparate. "La mandrágora" parece una novela de folletín, de estas con un desarrollo extendido para sacar más cuartos y con una narrativa simplona que solo aspira al entretenimiento.
La escritura es mediocre. Cumple únicamente la función de contar la historia, ni se recrea en la belleza o en las descripciones, ni se adentra en meditaciones interesantes, solamente cuenta con un estilo monótono las olvidables aventuras de Alraune y de sus creadores.
Si la escritura ya es floja, la historia remata el fracaso del libro. El desarrollo es lento, repetitivo y con situaciones genéricas llevadas por el melodrama. Además el libro tiene demasiada paja, por lo que, al ser tan largo, se vuelve aburrido. Hubiera sido mucho mejor con la mitad de sus páginas o incluso como un relato corto.
Se parece mucho a Villiers y su "Eva futura". Son dos libros alternativos al mito de Frankenstein que tienen mucho contenido simbólico, muy propio de la época, aquí muy centrado en los mitos de la vampiresa o de Lilith. Aparte de eso hace una pintura muy interesante de los personajes cínicos y perversos, sobre todo de Braun y su tío, a veces esperpéntica, algo común al arte alemán de entreguerras, sobre todo si pensamos en el expresionismo como movimiento multidisciplinar. Pero tiene graves problemas de ritmo, sobre todo porque las tramas sobre Alraune son demasiado reiterativas en todo el cuerpo de la novela. Probablemente lo mejor sea la decadente atmósfera de la parte final, una historia de amor entre bucólica y enfermiza.
Amazing "femme fatale" + Frankenstein story! I found it a far more interesting read than The Sorcerer's Apprentice, mainly because there was so much less of the obnoxious character Frank Braun.
Это чистейший фанфик про Мери Сью. Отсылка на Венсдей? :) Pure fan fiction with Mary Sue characters, hot scenes and EVIL. Twilight for 20th century girls.
the first 150 pages are mostly unnecessary and annoying to read, but when it eventually picks up, it picks up for real. anyone who enjoys a decadent, gothic aesthetic will love reading about Alraune and her evil deeds. i expected to loathe the ending, as i despise Braun, the author's unsufferable little OC, and knew Alraune and him would be facing off at the end. however, the faceoff itself was decently tense and subtle, and i very much enjoyed reading it. it would be a high 4, were it not for the rough, rough start
------- TW: PSYCHOANALYTICAL RAMBLINGS
a lot has been said about the eugenics angle of this book, but now i just finished, that only seems like the tip of the iceberg. follow along with me:
modern science has created a false, artificial woman who resembles a 'natural' one but isn't quite so. her nature is twofold:
on one hand, as a child, Alraune supposedly delights in getting other girls to torment animals and one another (though we are never shown how she does this), but rarely takes action directly; and as a young woman, she toys with men, seduces them, and then drives them to their deaths, but at no point does she seem to desire any of them. she is a passive agent who destroys those around her whether she likes it or not, and it's rather ambiguous whether she enjoys any of this beyond a mere passtime (her face is, even at many crucial points, described as 'an inexpressive mask,' her cadaveric pallor is often emphasised, etc)
on the other hand, the arrival of Braun, the protagonist and perfect avatar of fascist masculinity (i'll get to that,) reveals a new facet of her. Braun and Alraune fall for each other almost at first sight, seeing each other as a worthy competitor (is it casual that Alraune constantly parades about dressed as a boy and taking on the social role of a boy? surely not!) and it's in the middle of this power play that Alraune's true nature is revealed: deep down, she wants to submit to Braun, but it's simply not in her nature to do so. whenever their romance seems most idyllic, you know an accident will occur that will end up hurting Braun, almost resulting on his death at one point. eventually Braun manages to escape (thanks to his suffering mother, whose pain has been minimised and ignored up to that point, but suddenly becomes relevant as soon as Braun and Alraune fall for each other) and at the end of the last numbered chapter, he sees 'a boy' sleepwalking on the roof of Alraune's mansion, and we believe it's Alraune, but it's actually not. because Alraune isn't a true fallen woman who can be saved by marriage, not even be saved in dying for an impossible love. she's a false, synthetic woman that has no place in the world (except in a nazi pervert's fantasies.)
so, to recap: Alraune represents a sort of 'tragic madonna' who is cold and devoid of desire for the most part, save for the protagonist, to whom she presents with a classic fantasy of disintegration: if Braun lets go, he can gain supernatural levels of happiness and fulfillment with Alraune at the cost of his life. Braun expressedly tries to convince himself that Alraune is just another femme fatale or fallen woman waiting to be tamed, and the romantic tension between the two character lies in the question of whether Alraune is truly this fallen woman archetype, or that 'tragic madonna,' which is in fact the archetype of the full mOther in psychoanalysis: the mother who is divided between allowing his son to grow into a full individual, and reintegrating him, 'devouring' him so he will never leave her side, becoming the part of herself that she's lacking, promising each other eternal satisfaction.
the horror of this story precisely lies in Braun coming as close as possible to this devouring mother, then being saved by the thought of his real mother, the real woman, the real madonna. she is cold and devoid of desire. eternally suffering, but unthreatening. she will always be waiting for him, gathering dust and growing old until her son deigns to pay her another visit. that's the only type of woman a fascist like Braun will ever know how to love