A brewery here in the U.S. advertizes its products as if they were deliberately offensive: "It's not too strong, you're too weak" and that kind of thing. That is how this book should advertize itself. Essentially, you are too soppy and pathetic to deal with Horvath's rage, and too conventional and boring to accept the bizarre structure he uses to convey said rage. Because, my friend, you are a philistine.

"The philistine," he tells us, is "an egoist who suffers from hypochondria, and this is why he seeks, like a coward, to fit in wherever he goes and to distort every new formulation of the idea by calling it his own." That's not the definition I would have made, but anyway, the important point is that "the old species of philistine no longer even deserves to be ridiculed, and whoever is still mocking him at present is at best a philistine of the future."

And we see how the philistine comports him or herself very clearly in this book, written around 1929--and somewhat chillingly showing how 'ordinary' people will do whatever the hell they (we) think will help them get ahead, not excluding, for instance, nazism. The old philistine believes in ideals like Art and the League of Nations and Universal Humanity, despite never having understood anything he's read. The new philistine believes only in his own wallet and penis, sees no need to justify his revolting actions, and never bothered to read anything at all.

That takes us through the first part of the novel, a train trip through a Europe turning fascist. In the second part, we get a female philistine; but while the gentlemen of the first part chose their philistinism, our Fraulein has it forced on her.

So, if you've ever wished that Evelyn Waugh had been a middle-european novelist, who was more sympathetic to the proletariat and more skeptical of the rich, you should probably read this book.

As a special bonus, Shalom Auslander's introduction is so perfect that I immediately went out to buy his novel. But my bookstore didn't have a copy. Hence making his introduction, about the speed with which funny books go out of print, even more perfect. No matter--they had plenty of Jonathan Franzen. Deep. ( )

Okay, I will admit it. I was very likely influenced to order this book instead of any other from the Neversink collection because there was a forward written by Shalom Auslander, author of the wickedly awesome collection of short stories, Beware of God. Once I'd read that introduction, I have to say, that if I had picked this book up in a shop somewhere, and skimmed through or read that introduction, I would have been compelled to buy this book immediately, at nearly any cost, no matter the state of my bank account. As it was, I spent days trying to explain, to anyone who would listen, how witty and pointed this introduction was.

It wouldn't be easy to live up to a build-up like that.

The book did its best, but it was hindered by my near-complete lack of comprehension of the historical context of the stories. (The book is in three parts, which are definitely connected, but kind of separate.) An appreciation of this book doesn't require a familiarity with the political and economic conditions of Europe between the two world wars, but I couldn't help feeling it would be greatly improved by such knowledge. Particularly during Kobler's train voyage -- the attitudes that various strangers from different regions and countries took toward one another, not to mention remarks on cities and geographical features they passed through or by -- I felt repeatedly frustrated that I just had no context to place these in.

Despite all my lack of prior knowledge, The Eternal Philistine still managed to convey a great deal about its time and place, but even more about the universal state of people caught up in societal forces beyond their control. Some seek for, and some find, a way to thrive in their changing times. Others die by inches. There is an excellent quote near the end of this book, which could sum up most of it:

"If all the shitheads went and helped each other out, then every shithead would be better off."

Yes, this book is bitter, and dark. But what makes it bearable is not the comedy, but what makes any horror in life more bearable -- a little bit of human solidarity.
( )