45 pages • 1 hour read
Rainer Maria RilkeA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
On September 11, Malte Laurids Brigge observes a scene taking place on a street in Paris. He sees a pregnant woman shuffling toward the maternity hospital. He passes military hospitals, shelters for poor people, and a sick child left in a pram. Brigge notes the intense smell of the city and the inhabitants' constant struggle to stay alive. Despite the smell and the noise, Brigge cannot sleep with the window closed. The noises are almost overwhelming, but the silence is "more terrible" (49) as it implies imminent danger or violence. The experience of the city for these last three weeks is changing Brigge, but he does not want to tell people that he has changed. He has studied the changing faces of people in the city.
Brigge admits that he is afraid. He is scared to be taken to a hospital, as he is sure that he would die there. Funeral carriages are seen frequently on the streets of Paris and people are forced to reckon with their own deaths on a daily basis. Death seems to Brigge to be merely a prelude to an inevitable funeral and "the array of amazing rituals that come with it" (51). For the poor, funerals are a case of finding the best, most affordable solution.
Brigge is from Denmark. When he thinks about home, however, he fears that no one is left. He thinks about how his family members all carried their deaths inside them, "as the fruit contains its kernel" (51). Brigge's grandfather, in his final days, was carried from room to room by his servants and followed everywhere by his dogs. When he died, the voice of the man who had "demanded, and screamed" (52) every day was replaced by a terrible silence that affected everyone in the community. The death rules over the community "like a king" (53).
When Brigge thinks about other people who have died, he reflects on how they have borne their deaths within themselves. They carry their deaths while alive, so that the manner of their death reflects the way in which they led their lives. Brigge sits up all night writing. He does this to deliberately exhaust himself as a way to "combat [his] fear" (54). Now, someone else is living in his grandfather's old manor house and he is just a poor nobody.
On a lovely autumn morning, Brigge walks through a public garden and enjoys the way the bright sun shines on the light mist. He sees a tall, smiling man carrying – but not using – a crutch. Brigge thinks about how light can alter his perception of the world around him. One day, he observes a woman pushing a handcart, on top of which is a barrel-organ. When the woman turns the organ handle, her son stamps on his box and makes his sister shake her tambourine.
Brigge is 28 years old, and he thinks about how "virtually nothing" (55) has happened in his life. He has written a few things but without success. He feels that he lacks the experience and maturity to write good poetry, as this is only possible at the end of one's life. The play Brigge wrote, he explains, was guilty of needing a third party to expose the division between the two central characters. He was not confident enough in his writing to allow this division to be evident in its own right. Sitting in his room on the fifth floor, Brigge wonders whether the whole of humanity—not just him—has yet to see, recognize, or say "anything real or important" (56). History may have been misunderstood, he speculates, meaning that no one has ever said anything that delves below the surface level of life. Someone, he believes, must "do something about what's been neglected" (57). Since no one else seems to have noticed the problem, Brigge accepts the responsibility.
Brigge recalls his childhood. At the age of 12 or 13, his father takes him to Urnekloster to see Brigge's maternal grandfather, Count Brahe. Brigge's father and Count Brahe have not seen one another since the death of Brigge's mother, some years before. Count Brahe lived in a castle, but Brigge now only remembers this "remarkable house" (57) as a series of disconnected rooms. Each night, the family dines together by candlelight. The darkness of the surrounding room nauseates the young Brigge, who turns to his father for strength even though they share only a "cool" (58) relationship. Count Brahe, Brigge, and Brigge's father are joined by Brigge's uncle, an older male relation to whom his precise relationship is obscured. The uncle is retired and has developed an interest in alchemy and experiments. Rumors suggest that he is buying corpses and then "dissecting and preparing them in a mysterious manner so that they would resist decay" (58). They are also joined by Miss Mathilde Brahe, a distant cousin of Brigge's mother with an interest in spiritualism, and the frail, small, young son of a cousin named Erik. Brigge spends most of his days wandering the estate with the family dogs. He shares his family's taciturn nature and is surprised by Mathilde's forthright desire to talk constantly. When Count Brahe does speak, he talks about Brigge's mother as though she were still a little girl. To the Count, death is a "minor incident that he [disregards] entirely" (60). He continues to remember people exactly as they were when they were alive so that their deaths make little difference to the way he discusses them. To Brigge's surprise, a ghost interrupts one dinner. A "slim woman dressed in light colors" (60) enters the room and passes silently beyond the table to a door on the other side. Brigge's father is shocked and his face turns "white as a sheet" (61). The Count and the other guests do not react. Later, Brigge learns that this is the ghost of Christine Brahe who died in childbirth. Brigge and his father stay for several more months. They see Christine's ghost three times and, on the final occasion, Brigge's father overcomes his fear and—at the Count's suggestion—raises his glass to Christine. That night, Brigge and his father leave the castle.
The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge uses a highly stylized format. The novel is presented as a series of entries in a notebook, written by the protagonist as he observes the world around him. The German word in the title, “Aufzeichnungen,” more accurately reflects the book’s loose structure, meaning “notes” or “recordings,” rather than a formal notebook. Only two of these entries are dated in any way and only some seem to follow any kind of narrative progression. Rather, the effect is to create an overwhelming milieu of thoughts and observations. The notebook format is an attempt by the protagonist to communicate directly with the audience but, as this is a notebook rather than a finished novel or poem, Brigge's thoughts are raw and unfiltered. The format is an attempt to reflect Brigge's cluttered mind, illustrating how his failure to portray the nuances of the world are heightened by the sheer complexity and misery that he sees around him. Each time he sees something important and writes it in the notebook, something equally as interesting or as vital is also seen. As such, the narrative jumps around, unable to truly explore individuals, characters, plots, or lives because of the immense intricacy of life. Life simply cannot be contained in any single work of conventional literature, so Brigge's sprawling, disjointed thoughts reflect his pained attempts to explore the world around him. The format is a herald of Brigge's own inevitable failure, knowing that this private, journalistic, freeform approach is the closest he will come to conveying the complexity of life, yet functioning as a tacit admission of the impossible nature of the task ahead.
In this sense, Brigge's choice of format reveals the pertinent self-criticism that forms such an important part of his character. Brigge is his own worst critic. He hates everything he has every produced but still feels compelled to produce something. Even at a young age, he is convinced that life is passing him by and that he has achieved nothing, but he criticizes himself for lacking the maturity and perspective necessary to say anything important about the state of the world. This places Brigge in a difficult position: he criticizes himself for not writing anything meaningful but also insists that he must try, because otherwise he sees no point to his life. He is horrified by the world around him and a keen observer of suffering in its many forms. Even though the world and its inhabitants terrify him, however, he is most fearful of his own inadequacy. He has endured illnesses and loss during his life, experiences that remind him of the brevity of life and the fleeting nature of others' accomplishments. These experiences imbue him with a desire to achieve something but, as a perniciously self-aware person, he is adamant that nothing he has ever achieved is worth anything. He is driven to write but he hates his own writing. He is desperate for a mature perspective on the world but fears that he will die before achieving this maturity. He is horrified by the world but desperate to document it in excruciating detail. These conflicts drive Brigge's character forward, compelling him to write in his notebook that may not ever be read by anyone. He is writing for an audience of one, providing his own worst critic with all the ammunition he needs to perpetuate his self-loathing.
Brigge positions himself as a documentarian of the real and the miserable. His experiences in the poor districts of Paris provide a contrast to his youth as a scion of a rich family in Denmark. The lavish meals in castles contrast with the scrounging for coins in the French capital. Despite this focus on the realistic socio-economic conditions of the poorest people, Brigge does not shy away from the supernatural. In the opening chapters, he casually introduces the presence of ghosts. A ghost passes through the family dinner and stuns the family into silence. This happens on a number of occasions and the manner in which it is portrayed is no different to the strange people Brigge encounters on the street. In this respect, the reality of poverty and the presence of the supernatural are presented in the same mannered, calm tone. They are both examples of incidents that have left a mark on Brigge, forcing the audience to ask which is more terrifying, the ghost or poverty? The normalized portrayal of the supernatural in Brigge's notebooks suggests that, in his world, ghosts are simply an extension of a wider social malaise, rather than the confirmation of any sort of afterlife.
By Rainer Maria Rilke