Tomcat Murr by Hoffmann
The Life and Opinions of the Tomcat Murr: together with a fragmentary Biography of Kapellmeister Johannes Kreisler on Random Sheets of Waste Paper (1821)
'edited' by E. T. A. Hoffmann, translated by Anthea Bell
350 pages - Penguin Classics

The story goes like so: Hoffmann is the editor of an autobiography written by Murr, a vain and bourgeois house cat. However, while he was writing the cat tore up an unpublished biography of the musician Kreisler to use as blotting paper. Due to a printer's error both books have been mixed together, the cat's in its entirety, along with sizable portions of the Kreisler story. This was meant to be a three volume work, though Hoffmann only wrote and published two volumes before he died, both of which are collected here.

I think I wanted to like this book more than I actually did. Not only have I loved Hoffmann's stories, but Tomcat Murr was praised highly in The Lyre of Orpheus by Robertson Davies (where Hoffmann also appeared as a spirit commenting on events). The cat portion of the narrative is amusing, mostly in a cutesy sort of way, as the opportunity is taken to satirize society and sanctimonious tale-telling. The Kreisler portion of the narrative is a bit more difficult to get a handle on, as portions are skipped every time the action breaks, and sometimes the chronology of events is re-arranged as well. The fictional alter-ego of Hoffmann, Kreisler is a brilliant but eccentric and highly-strung musician. Most of his biography takes place at a small royal court where various intrigues and adventures occur.

It's a dense and difficult book in a lot of ways, and I'm sure if I get a chance to read it a second time I will enjoy it more. But I also feel that Hoffmann probably aimed this one at a more general public, as he sometimes did with his writing, and so you have a lot of concerns with social satire and various affairs and marriages, as opposed to the pure artistic visionary fire that's evident in some of his short stories. But there are still a lot of great parts, even if they don't quite come together. And it's better than, say, Sir Walter Scott, who had this to say:

'It is impossible to subject tales of this nature to criticism. They are not the visions of a poetical mind, they have scarcely even the seeming authenticity which the hallucinations of lunacy convey to the patient; they are the feverish dreams of a lightheaded patient, to which, though they may sometimes excite by their peculiarity, or surprise by their oddity, we never feel disposed to yield more than momentary attention. In fact, the inspirations of Hoffmann so often resemble the ideas produced by the immoderate use of opium, that we cannot help considering his case as one requiring the assisstance of medicine rather than criticism...'

Oh, and the end notes and introduction, which are usually maddening and frustrating to an enjoyable reading experience, are quite outstanding.