The Review of Contemporary Fiction

Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz by Irene Dische
Irving Malin

Irene Dische. Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz. Metropolitan, 1997. 302 pp. $23.00.

I am pleased by the fact that this novel confirms Dische’s ability to fuse comedy and sadness. This novel, like Strange Traffic, moves gracefully from the mysteries of existence to the “mundane” oddities of daily life. It is set in divided Germany, a place of dislocation. Benedikt Walter, a member of the German aristocracy, does not care about wealth or class. Nor does he worry about his place in the world. He, in fact, has little use for living things; he is interested in mathematical purities: “Nature, he concluded, was an experiment of grotesque complexity doomed to failure . . . He dreaded the hysterical colors of spring and the unintelligence of grass.” He worships Einstein who, like other mathematicians and physicists, seems to prefer abstractions to bodily pleasures. We are told that Benedikt “had a shock catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror and realized he had an exterior; he identified himself with his work and not with the laurels or with the income that it earned, either.”
Benedikt has AIDS, but he regards it as merely another unfortunate perversity or imperfection of the body. He treats his disease as another mere nuisance. He hates the feelings of despair and treats his disease as a theoretical axiom. Benedikt is, if you will, a kind of holy fool and when he places an ad in a personals column for a son, he gives his name and terminal condition.
Of course, Dische has the world close in on him. She introduces “others” who don’t know what to make of his perverse behavior. She structures her novel as a kind of musical counterpoint. Einstein’s ghost, who regularly appears to Benedikt, says to him: “Any strong emotion is like a tone of music; it makes memories along the entire range of one’s history resonate. No tone exists by itself, there are no pure emotions.” The novel becomes a “strange traffic,” a work of changing tempo. Dische is able to move from “solo” thoughts of Benedikt to the frenzy of his “circle.” And she allows Benedikt to unwillingly grow from unworldly robot to compassionate human being who is loved by his adopted son and wife.
Only a talented artist can compose a “gay waltz with sad strains,” a tragic comedy of remarkable, lyrical “turnings.” [Irving Malin]


Interview with Founder Board of Directors Funders Submission Guidelines Dalkey Archive Full Catalog Current and Forthcoming Titles Recent Titles Review of Contemporary Fiction Special Library Offer Special Backlist Sale Stores & Wholesalers Academics Libraries Reviewers Context Casebooks Author Interviews Links Dalkey Archive News Events Newsletter

The Review of Contemporary Fiction Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz by Irene Dische Irving Malin Irene Dische. Sad Strains of a Gay Waltz. Metropolitan, 1997. 302 pp. $23.00. I am pleased by the fact that this novel confirms Dische’s ability to fuse comedy and sadness. This novel, like Strange Traffic, moves gracefully from the mysteries of existence to the “mundane” oddities of daily life. It is set in divided Germany, a place of dislocation. Benedikt Walter, a member of the German aristocracy, does not care about wealth or class. Nor does he worry about his place in the world. He, in fact, has little use for living things; he is interested in mathematical purities: “Nature, he concluded, was an experiment of grotesque complexity doomed to failure . . . He dreaded the hysterical colors of spring and the unintelligence of grass.” He worships Einstein who, like other mathematicians and physicists, seems to prefer abstractions to bodily pleasures. We are told that Benedikt “had a shock catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror and realized he had an exterior; he identified himself with his work and not with the laurels or with the income that it earned, either.” Benedikt has AIDS, but he regards it as merely another unfortunate perversity or imperfection of the body. He treats his disease as another mere nuisance. He hates the feelings of despair and treats his disease as a theoretical axiom. Benedikt is, if you will, a kind of holy fool and when he places an ad in a personals column for a son, he gives his name and terminal condition. Of course, Dische has the world close in on him. She introduces “others” who don’t know what to make of his perverse behavior. She structures her novel as a kind of musical counterpoint. Einstein’s ghost, who regularly appears to Benedikt, says to him: “Any strong emotion is like a tone of music; it makes memories along the entire range of one’s history resonate. No tone exists by itself, there are no pure emotions.” The novel becomes a “strange traffic,” a work of changing tempo. Dische is able to move from “solo” thoughts of Benedikt to the frenzy of his “circle.” And she allows Benedikt to unwillingly grow from unworldly robot to compassionate human being who is loved by his adopted son and wife. Only a talented artist can compose a “gay waltz with sad strains,” a tragic comedy of remarkable, lyrical “turnings.” [Irving Malin]

Search the full text of our books: