THE GRANDDAUGHTER

Germany is reunited, but a family is starkly divided.

Kaspar Wettner, a septuagenarian bookseller in Berlin, has been married for years to Birgit, whom he deeply loves although he can do nothing to ease her depression and addiction to alcohol. She is “a child of East Germany, of the GDR, of the proletarian world that, with Prussian socialist fervor, yearned to be bourgeois and took culture and politics seriously, as the bourgeoisie had once done and had forgotten how to do.” When Birgit dies, Kaspar sorts through her papers, finding reference to a child he knew nothing about. Kaspar is nothing if not diligent, and he hunts down the whereabouts of the father—who understandably isn’t thrilled to meet him, but who points the way to the long-lost daughter all the same. The problem is, Svenja is völkisch: that is to say, having connected long ago with “a skinhead…in a bomber jacket and combat boots,” she once amused herself by “taking drugs, beating up gays and foreigners…[and] doing stuff that people don’t always survive.” Svenja now lives in a cramped house with her husband and daughter, dreaming of the day when they can fulfill the neo-Nazi dream of living on a farm far away from the city. Sigrun, the daughter, takes to her new grandfather, who dotes on her even as he tries to sway her from her hateful views. Sigrun proves a harder case than Kaspar can imagine. Schlink avoids stereotyping while making it clear that his characters’ fascist views can yield nothing but disaster—but also that, in the end, at least some of those characters aren’t hopelessly irredeemable.

A brilliant dissection of a fragmented nation in which a glimmer of hope relieves a somber but wholly memorable tale.