This short novella by Nobel Prize winning author, Imre Kertesz, is a different approach to the question of responsibility and guilt in the 20th century. The story begins with "the commissioner", the only name by which we are to know him, interviewing the owner of a hotel about an incident that happened nearby. The hotel owner has lived in the town since boyhood and volunteers information rather feverishly. In fact, he seems relieved to be able to confess his "small part in universal evil", and furthermore to explain his inaction since then. But the commissioner has not come to absolve the hotel owner, rather his intent is to visit the nearby site of the incident, and then continue on his way to a seaside resort with his wife.

The visit to the unnamed site turns out to be a disappointment, however. Nothing remains as it was, and the

Tourists were like ants, diligently carrying off the significance of things, crumb by crumb, wearing away a bit of the unspoken importance investing them with every word they spoke and every single snapshot they took. He should have realized that this was precisely the sort of opportunity they would not leave unexploited.

The commissioner does not find the evidence he is seeking here.

He does, however, spot a veiled woman in the distance with whom he is later to have an unexpected conversation. The woman is mysterious and accusatory. When the commissioner protests that he was only at the site by chance, the woman replies, "There's no such thing as chance. Only injustice." Now it is the commissioner's turn to protest his innocence; but the veiled woman is as uninterested in his excuses as the commissioner was in the hotel owner's.

Finally, spurning his confused but supportive wife, the commissioner seeks to complete his mission by visiting the factory. Finding the factory still working, he feels a brief moment of hope, but then realizes that he has still failed, because all that remains are objects. What is the truth he seeks?

These objects here were holding their peace; like uncommunicative strangers, they were complete and sufficient unto themselves, they were not going to verify his existence. Let him find it in chance or seek it within himself, accept it or reject it-that was now, as ever, a matter of utter indifference to this pitiless landscape and to these obtusely different objects here.

As he waits for the train back to town, he picks up a paper and reads an article about a recent suicide. With that, the commissioner has a moment of panic, but "surely he couldn't be looking for his accusers?" His mission, however, appears complete, and he continues forward, in seeming indifference to all that he has experienced in the last few days.

Kertesz is masterful at exploring the themes of responsibility and guilt without ever becoming specific. By doing so, the unnamed places and people can stand for everyone, for each of us. We all have a role in the story be it spectator, victim, survivor, or tourist. Vague, confusing, and surreal, the story prods the reader to identify with the scenario and ask hard questions of ourselves. Although I can't say I enjoyed this novella, it did make me uncomfortable, and that, I think, is the point. ( )

Very pallid, even timid evocation of the way that scenes of horror from the past are forgotten. (A concentration camp is turned into a harmless cultural center.) But it's pale, and there is no drama in moments of discovery or search -- passages that Kertesz apparently thinks are very suspenseful. ( )

Buchnotiz zu : Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 07.12.2002
Diese Erzählung gehe auf das Jahr 1962 zurück, schreibt Rezensent Hubert Spiegel, als Kertesz zum ersten Mal nach seiner Befreiung aus Auschwitz ein Konzentrationslager besucht habe, das KZ Buchenwald bei Weimar, damals in der sozialistischen DDR gelegen. Mit inquisitorischer Härte und Finesse sah Spiegel den Protagonisten der Erzählung einen nicht näher definierten Auftrag ausführen, dessen Hintergrund die Suche nach Verantwortlichen für die Nazi-Verbrechen ist. Im Zentrum des Textes sieht der Rezensent die Frage stehen, wie Literatur angesichts dessen, was sich nicht erzählen lasse, dem Vorwurf der Luge entgehen könne. Zu Unrecht habe die Erzählung lange im Schatten des weltberühmten "Roman eines Schicksallosen" gestanden. Die Sprache der Erzählung freilich zeichne eine "gewissen stilistische Euphorie" aus, wie der Rezensent, Kertesz zitierend, schreibt, der dies im Nachwort des Buches selbst als Folge "jener Sprachdisziplin" beschrieben habe, die er sich während der Arbeit am "Roman eines Schicksallosen" selbst auferlegt habe. Doch die gelockerten stilistischen Fesseln haben den Rezensenten einen ganz neuen Kertesz entdecken lassen: "parabelhaft und stark an Kafka gemahnend, zur philosophischen Sentenz neigend, immer wieder erzähltheoretische Passagen einstreuend.
Quelle: Amazon.de ( )