Is it enlightenment that Sebastian Zöllner achieves at the close of this short novel? Based on what we know of this narrator protagonist, I’m inclined to read it instead as an ironic parody of the Zen parable Kaminski had told him earlier. After all, enlightenment was not his goal in pursuing the reclusive Kaminski.
Manuel Kaminski is a painter, briefly famous (Picasso bought one of his works), now nearly forgotten. Zöllner is an art critic on the make. He’s not interested in art but in reputation—his own primarily, but that of others to the extent they can magnify his. He has garnered a commission to write Kaminski’s biography and, if all goes well, hopes it will appear soon after the old man dies. This doesn’t make him unusual in his field, as an absurd and acerbic account of the naked self-promotion and vapid pretension on display at a vernissage reveals.
Kaminski is long past caring for all this, although he, too, was more ambitious than talented in his youth. He no longer paints; he is blind (or claims to be). A blind painter? Why not? Beethoven continued to compose after becoming deaf. At one point, Sebastian watches Kaminski doodle on a notepad as what seemed like an aimless spiral takes on aspects of a face. The eye, it seems, is a dispensable element in the link between imagination and hand.
After I closed the book, countless other stories came to mind (what could be more postmodern than that?). Kaminski uses Sebastian to achieve a reunion with the love of his youth; this recalled Lotte Kestner’s visit to the aged Goethe, as recounted in Thomas Mann’s Lotte in Weimar. She had been the inspiration for The Sorrows of the Young Werther, Goethe’s early reputation-making success. The obstacle-laden trip north to achieve this reminded me of Dante, especially Purgatorio, with Kaminski as Virgil. Near the end of the trip, Sebastian sees Elke, his Beatrice, but she cares as little for him as the real-life Beatrice did for Dante.
This is the second novel I’ve read in succession with an unlikable protagonist, but Sebastian makes Charity Royall of Edith Wharton’s Summer seem the embodiment of charm by comparison. It takes a masterful artist to create such a character and make us care in the end. Wharton succeeded; I admired the way Charity developed. With Sebastian, Kehlmann presents a character whose oblivious lack of the most elementary social grace amuses (at times) but whose self-centeredness struck me as incurable, despite his awareness of the expansive sky and the waves on the closing page of the book. Nevertheless, an entertaining read. ( )

> Babelio : https://www.babelio.com/livres/Kehlmann-Moi-et-Kaminski/200224

> C'est un bon roman, mais dont on ne tire pas de grande satisfaction. Cela a même été pour moi une lecture constamment désagréable. Désagréable parce que l'on suit en permanence un personnage très déplaisant qui s'appelle Sébastian Zöllner et que l'on pourrait qualifier de "jeune loup aux dents longues" (du genre à rayer le parquet). Zöllner est un arriviste totalement égocentré ("Moi d'abord et Kaminski, X, Y ou le reste du monde") qui ne recule devant rien pour parvenir à ses fins.
—Danieljean (Babelio) ( )

Nicht der Beste Kehlmann, aber typisch und daher durchaus lesenswert ( )

A clever and satirical novel about two characters, neither of which are very likeable. The biographer was often at best clumsy and often rude. The elderly painter was manipulative, perhaps why he had made a name for himself. A great story. ( )

Great writing though I struggled with the story. I find it hard when you really don't like the central character - anti-hero, sure, but just a kind of guy you would swerve. In old money you would feel an urge to punch him.
It's short and redemption of a soryt arrives so give it a go. ( )