Humbert Humbert, Meursault, Michel from the Immoralist, Alex from the Clockwork Orange, Oskar Matzerath. Oskar Matzerath. They all belong in a class of antihero that disgust, that somehow, hits too close to home. Antiheros are like that, and we lap them up endlessly in Netflix shows. And shouldn’t we be offended, as it makes us a tad hypocritical? What must the Germans think (or the Polish) after reading the Tin Drum, that it is an absolute monstrosity of a book?
Ozkar Matzerath is a midget, as he would put it, almost by choice as he had a semi-deliberate accident climbing into an open cellar accidentally opened by his “father” (the notion of fatherhood becomes more and more grey). This stunted his growth so that he is perpetually the size of a three year old, though his mind is in line with his age. We only hear Ozkar speaking as a person his age, to his potential father, Jan Bronski and mentor, Bebra.
To compensate for his lack of voice, Ozkar communicates through his drum, defensive of it and protective of it. He uses his drum to think, to vent out frustrations, to capture attention. If that doesn’t work, Ozkar has the ability to break glass with his voice. He can break glass from a distance in a small target, or he can break every glass around his vicinity. His obsession of beating the tin drum combined with his ability to break glass with his voice makes him uncompromising. We can argue that even though Ozkar might have been able to achieve plenty.
However, his battles may have been delusional, against the statue of Jesus and against his father-by-name, Alfred Mazerath. As he lives in his own world, he makes his own enemies. Still, we don’t know if some of the events that happen in the book are happening in his mind, or if it is contrived from Ozkar’s imagination. As far as unreliable narrators go, Oskar Mazerath is top pedigree.
The book is a chronicle of an awkward time gone past between the two great wars, in a place that at the time does not belong to neither Germany nor Poland in the free state of Danzig. With the coming of fascist Germany, the free state does not remain as such for long, and the Poles who live in the city must battle for their lives defending a post office. This is one of the most poignant parts of the book where Oskar’s supposive father, Jan Bronski was on the way home having escaped from the responsibility to defend the post office. But for the sake of Oskar’s broken drum he goes back so that the drum can be repaired.
The Free City of Danzig at the time was full of legends, and as much as the Tin Drum is considered a quintessential German book, the presence of Poland is prominent. The colours of the Polish flag are recurring letimotifs in the book, Oskar’s drum being red and he covets for the nurse’s white uniform. The bravery of the Polish cavalry is not amiss and mentioned by Grass in the book, that I had to look up some of these stories because I have no idea whether some are based in tangible history. I recommend reading about the Polish cavalry who charged against the German Panzers.
Grass of course, was born in the Free City of Danzig himself. The descriptions of the city, with its churches, coffee shops, buildings, toy shops are very vivid. While Danzig at the time was neither Polish or German, the essence of the novel is German, the way Hesse advises the reader not to take anything seriously, that the ability to laugh at oneself is crucial; that there is always a battle between the wild, carefree Dionysian and the controlled, subdued Apollonian. For Oskar, this conflict is represented by the pages torn from the biography of Rasputin (the wild Dionysian) and Goethe (the Apollonian). In some ways, Oskar strives to be the promiscuous Rasputin, but his sexual experiences are limited.
And if anything, the Tin Drum is a very sexual book. There are multi-lateral sexual relations between Oskar’s family, and Oskar himself is obsessed with the eroticism of nurses and Maria, who eventually married Alfred Matzerath. Oskar is full of sexual frustrations and his delusions of power can be attributed to his small conquests in his sexual experiences. But the book is chockful of sex, and it started as such in the potato fields when Oskar’s grandma hid her future husband below her skirt while the police was chasing him, while Oskar’s mother was being conceived. The grandmother’s four layers of skirts also have an erotic undertone to it, as the inner layer is closer to the skin yet is the most hidden.
It is a timely book to read as well, and I picked it up a week after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. In some ways, the book also touch upon these regions, and it feels like the history comes in cycles. Ukraine, like the Free City of Danzig is in a precarious position where there are internal conflicts as well as intimidations from outside forces which will dictate its future. Sadly, we can only see what will unfold next and to read literature such as The Tin Drum to keep us grounded.
