I read Wilhelm Raabe’s Stopfkuchen during a difficult time in my life, and I fell completely in love with it. (It is, I’ll admit, the kind of book that nobody reads anymore, and I’m also not attached to any of Raabe’s other books, though I gave Horacker a try.)
Stopfkuchen, however, awoke in me deep feelings like those of dreams, or those found in half-remembered moments from one’s own past, as well as a sense of peace and refuge that I have seldom found in the pages of a book. I shall never forget that long summer day at the "roten Schanze"! The book’s central message struck me deeply—as I was living in a new home at the time—the simple thought that everyone needs a place in the world. I loved the dignity and strength of middle-aged Tinchen Quakatz, the pastoral setting of "roten Schanze," so comfortable, well-worn and homey; and even Stopfkuchen, Heinrich Schaumann himself. He is a bore, but one who was able to keep me listening, as if I was truly there with him in the shade of the linden trees and at the breakfast table, walking the earthworks under a blue summer sky with grand history and prehistory all around and Stopfkuchen so rooted in both of them. In the end there is justice for Andreas Quakatz; he is exonerated, although it comes too late for him; he is already dead. But Stopfkuchen and Tinchen are redeemed and made whole by their love for one another; they have found the strength to heal and to forgive. How often have I wanted to paint Schaumann’s motto over my own door:
Stopfkuchen, however, awoke in me deep feelings like those of dreams, or those found in half-remembered moments from one’s own past, as well as a sense of peace and refuge that I have seldom found in the pages of a book. I shall never forget that long summer day at the "roten Schanze"! The book’s central message struck me deeply—as I was living in a new home at the time—the simple thought that everyone needs a place in the world. I loved the dignity and strength of middle-aged Tinchen Quakatz, the pastoral setting of "roten Schanze," so comfortable, well-worn and homey; and even Stopfkuchen, Heinrich Schaumann himself. He is a bore, but one who was able to keep me listening, as if I was truly there with him in the shade of the linden trees and at the breakfast table, walking the earthworks under a blue summer sky with grand history and prehistory all around and Stopfkuchen so rooted in both of them. In the end there is justice for Andreas Quakatz; he is exonerated, although it comes too late for him; he is already dead. But Stopfkuchen and Tinchen are redeemed and made whole by their love for one another; they have found the strength to heal and to forgive. How often have I wanted to paint Schaumann’s motto over my own door:
Da redete Gott mit Noah und sprach:
Gehe aus dem Kasten.
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