It's a new year and I'm going to spend it with Robert Musil

As a matter of course, 2009 began with a massive hangover that was not without some elements of what in Finnish is called "morkkis". It's a very heideggerian term that denotes the uncanny, remorse-like state in which one senses the solitary nature of being-thrown in its fullest force. Finns are Heideggerians, if you didn't know. My day took a more positive turn as I sat down with R at Kerttuli to discuss chapters one and two of Robert Musil's mighty book A man without qualities. Invigorated by delicious soft drinks and a fog of cigarette smoke, we had an excellent conversation. Reading Musil with R is pleasant in a lot of ways. Not only is she the best conversation partner one could ever wish for (she is the kind of person with whom one feels at ease so that one can try out one's ideas freely, not afraid one will say silly or immature things - one can throw away all posturing and self-conscious reservations), Musil's style is also very, very compact so it is inevitable that one misses a great deal when one reads it alone.

The Man without qualities spans 1100 pages. Reading it with R will take a lot of time, but we will persist, limiting each session to three or four chapters. Usually, the chapters are short. Today, however, we read only two. That was a good idea as the writing style of Musil, the themes of the book and the story itself, unfolded as we took our time to discuss the introducing chapters in depth, almost sentence-by-sentence.

In chapter 1, Musil introduces us to the urban life of Vienna in the year 1913. At that time, Vienna was capital of the Austrian-Hungarian empire. Already at this point it is evident that Musil plays with the language of science, with detached descriptions attempting to describe the world from a perspective of nowhere. And that Musil employs the form of satire is apparent from the first paragraph, in which scientific descriptions of the weather are concluded by the following sly remark about the barometric low hung : "In a word that characterizes the facts fairly accurately, even if it is a bit old-fashioned: It was a fine day in August 1913." He goes on to make a few observations about urban life and how it intertwines with class differences. The rich are not necessarily bragging about their dignified names, but the mentality of self-importance is worn like initials embroided on underwear. A well-tailored couple walk the streets together. "Their name might have been Ermelinda Tuzzi and Arnheim - but then, they couldn't be, because in August Frau Tuzziwas still in Bad Ausse with her husband and Dr. Arnheim was still in Constantinople; so we are left to wonder who they were." That's the style of Musil. Funny, witty, serious nonetheless.

R reads a Swedish translation of the book, while mine is in English. This makes the discussion interesting. I realize that the Swedish translation is very idiomatic, very elegant, while the English version highlights abstractness and Musil's ironic use of scientific language. It's a pleasure to read the book in English as this is a treasure of linguistic twists for the learner to devour.

In chapter 2, we are introduced to The Man without Qualities, Ulrich. We learn that he measures silly things and that he applies a scientific perspective to strange things. Then there is the question of heroic deeds. Ulrich does not believe in that, but nor does he invest his beliefs in borgeoisie life. What matters for him is above all to thwart and resist one's inclinations. But as Kantian and pure that may sound, it's an impossible outlook on life. Ulrich ends up with an intellectual heroism that settles with the middle-class life, "the collective, ant-like heroism". And it is of importance that Ulrich takes a perverse pleasure in annihilating his "inclinations". So there he is, back with his own, personal reactins, however much he wants to remain at a distance from them! Ulrich takes pride in his intellectual posturing and that makes him into yet another form of Hero, the nothingness hero.

Chapter 2 resumes with a funny scene in which Ulrich, who intends his life to be a protest against the Person, wanders around the apartment and suddenly hits a punching bag with a "hard, sudden blow". Musil develops the art of understatement to perfection.

I suppose the next chapters will illustrate further the impossible project that Ulrich is engaged in and how it is linked to modernity and the decay of the Austrian-Hungarian empire.

ps: the word 'morkkis' seems to have been merchanised beyond the Finnish borders.