The Reader, by Bernhard Schlink

I picked up this book because the movie based on it has garnered several film award nominations. But I did it in the wrong order, of course; I should have gone to see the movie first. Once I've read the book, the film adaptation is bound to disappoint.

Since Bernhard Schlink's novel was written in German, I was faced with yet another translated book. The prose was rather dreamy. Was it the author's intention, or was it because the translator was a woman? What else is missing in the translated version? I couldn't get these nagging thoughts out of my mind.

[Spoiler warning!]

In the meantime, the story conjures up a sense of surreality. In fact, which part of the story is even remotely realistic? A deeply felt relationship between a 15-year-old boy and a 36-year-old woman? Someone who would rather be exposed as a heartless murderer of defenceless women than an illiterate? I suppose I am to take things as metaphors and allegories, not as absurdity and contrivance. When I did manage to do that, the novel became absolutely beautiful.