Ferdinand, the Man with the Kind Heart: A Novel

Ferdinand flourishes in the flamboyant fanciness of farting around, in Ferdinand: The Man with the Kind Heart which is something like the opposite of a suicide note for Irmgard Keun, who was discovered to be alive and who wrote this book ten years after her reported death in 1940.



In the new translation by Michael Hofmann, we meet the Don Draperish man about town in his slow and becoming monologue that seeks to erase every sentence that comes before it. Keun boldly defines the apolitical, psychological conscience of a man in post-World War II Germany in a style that can still be interpreted as bold today.



The fact that the titular personage has a kind heart is entirely true and irrelevant, proposing that his heart is entirely false. There is no plot or development to the book, only the smell of fresh ink and paper, and a drop or two of blood. Somewhere, at some time, these words were put down and carried a meaning associated with their particular whereabouts. Today, the book is an indictment of apathy in the common man in regards to his social standing and the standing of those around him.