THE JOY OF SORCERY

German novelist Nadolny conjures up a slow-moving tale that takes in the sweep of modern European history through the eyes of a wizard.

It’s hard to write about magic these days without inviting comparison to J.K. Rowling, but Pahroc, Nadolny’s protagonist, is no Harry Potter. Of improbable origin—his father was a Paiute Indian who “could ride bareback, shoot a bow and arrow, and dance like a god” but whose greatest ambition was to be a German—Pahroc is an old man when we meet him, writing long letters to his granddaughter Mathilda, who shares some of his magical powers. About those powers, Pahroc is ambivalent: He points out repeatedly that while sorcerers are able to do certain things that ordinary mortals can’t, on the whole those ordinary mortals lead happier lives: “It’s normal men and women who turn out to be shooting stars,” he writes. Certainly the sorcerers don’t have Potter’s gracefulness: To fly, Pahroc recounts, you have to zoom as high as you can, then flatten out and glide toward some earthbound object on which you’ve fixed your sight, then repeat the process. That’s good enough for Pahroc to have gotten away from Stalingrad even as his childhood nemesis, another sorcerer named Schneidebein, or Cut Leg (“sounds like cutlet!” Pahroc exclaims), signs up for the Nazi cause and works a little magic on behalf of the Führer. Pahroc joins the resistance, but because ethical sorcerers aren’t really supposed to use their powers to kill or to influence the course of history, his contributions aren’t very distinguished. The story owes something to Hermann Hesse, but along with the Harry Potter stories, it bears comparison to Günter Grass’ The Tin Drum, which treads on similar territory more memorably. The reader will benefit by knowing some of the basics of 20th-century German history, including the country’s division after World War II.

Of some interest to students of contemporary German literature.