The book, surprisingly supple when folded slightly, produces a delicious creak. It’s almost a generic; the texts also creak with their often lackluster, wicked, inconsistent, pusillanimous and sometimes cruel characters. Let’s say they creak like reality when you have to put up with it, no matter what, because it is what it is and rarely what we would like it to be.
These stories, which are like a tale, linking happiness and misfortune into sudden narrative accelerations of which Gottfried Keller has the secret, usually end well, even if the author, one would say, sneers muted at so much petty-bourgeois happiness. . They also take the parable, but a parable doubting the morality it induces, sometimes going so far as to broadcast an irony close to satire.