Mostly outdated and irrelevant to my interests. Stylistically frustrating. The Kreisler storyline had its moments, but the tangents which I found promising, such as the forbidden romance between Ireneus & Benzon, were left unfollowed in favour of other, somewhat pointless and haphazard adventures. As for the cat's celebrated brand of humour, apart from the hilarious eulogy delivered at Muzius's funeral, I thought the satire was too obvious and in the most part needlessly expanded on to really make it funny at all. ( )

This did not engage my interest.

" . . . the attachment of the Germans to the mysterious has invented another species of composition, which, perhaps, could hardly have made its way in any other country or language. This may be called the FANTASTIC mode of writing in which the most wild and unbounded license is given to an irregular fancy." [72]

Re: Hoffmann's THE SAND MAN. "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 hallucinations of lunacy convey to the patient; they are the feverish dreams of a light-headed patient." [97] *

The previous review by tomcatmurr was comprehensive. I shall neither add or subtract one thing; nor shall I demur as it were the first-rate work of our own redoubtable tomcat. It was a delightful shall I call it catalogue pertaining to important matters of our furry friend.
It did not come as a shock that the self-styled Big Bow-Wower would feel that Hoffmann was more in need of a physician than he was a literary critic. And another strong common-sense type, Dr. Samuel Johnson had only been deceased for 38 years when Hoffman's story came to the attention of the readers of the day. Barely a generation. Johnson was a purveyor of Common Sense, as I said, but there can be little doubt that he loved his cat Hodge. Though what he would have made of Hofmann's Cat of Letters is entirely another matter. An important clue comes from his opinion of Laurence Sterne: he dismissed Tristram Shandy saying: "nothing odd will do long." The excellent Dr. preferred the heavily didactic histories of Virtues' triumph by Samuel Richardson. He didn't, by his own confession, read Richardson for his stories, who could, but for his Sentiment. Johnson believed that the end of literature was the propping up of Virtue.
Hoffmann on the other hand had other fish to fry. He was fascinated by the darker side of life. What scared the knickers off the Great Cham of Literature was grist for the mill of Hofffmann. Johnson had some interest in ghosts and nocturnal occupations of the undetermined variety, though he preferred to go out and visit the spectres, rather than the other way around.
Another upholder of Virtue, Jane Austen, who wrote only a few years after the death of Samuel Johnson, knew nothing of Hoffmann, or for that matter, the German Spirit. One could imagine a talking and writing feline in Miss Austen's novels, as one could not imagine her curling up by the fire with Baretti's Horsey Dialogues or Rousseau's Confessions. And Miss Austen was transported to Heaven only a few years before Hoffmann's book came out.
Dr. Johnson and Jane Austen would have seen Hoffmann's effort as a dangerous exercise in Imagination. Johnson hated the novels of Fielding; and said the man who would make a pun would pick a pocket.
With Hoffmann a brave new world would be born. Balzac described him as a cat who seems to exist and yet is not there?. Lewis Carroll's cat? Schrodingers's Cat? Who of Johnson's contemporaries would dare say this about the frisky Doctor? Or the demurr observing Miss Austen? Miss A. was not all that concerned with herself as subject, she was known to drop her writing materials as soon as another entered her drawing room. We can be certain that Hoffmann was always turning a cold-eye upon himself. Miss Austen was content in the bosom of the Church: "on serious subjects she was well instructed both by reading and meditation, and her opinions accorded strictly with those of our established Church."
Roof-tops and dark alleys were the place for Hoffmann's imagination. He paved the way for Arthur Machen and all those eldritch Watchers out of Time who came after him.

*On the Supernatural in Fictitious Composition; and particularly the works of E T A Hoffmann, first pub. in Foreign Quarterly Review, Vol 1, No. 1, 1827, by Sir Walter Scott ( )

When I was in college, majoring in Spanish literature, I had to read several works and poems that used a style I’d call “fierce satire.” They were, not to put too fine a point on it, mean. There were two Spanish poets who would write insulting sonnets back and forth to each other – Hilarious, but very dense in references, and so unkind that after reading them I had a bad taste in my mouth.

This book is a happy, gentle satire. It was really a flash of brilliance on Hoffman’s part to use a tomcat to parody a self-satisfied person of his time, who follows trends in society and believes he is a setter of them. All cat lovers will tell you that he picked the perfect animal to represent self-satisfaction.

The Kreisler story, or rather the discarded draft of the Kreisler story upon which Murr has written his autobiography, shows a very different character, one who actually has artistic genius and true depths of feeling, but who is paradoxically much less in control of his life than Murr, while being much more self-aware. The funny fake court in which the story takes place is the closest Hoffman comes to being fierce as he mocks all that must have been wrong with German aristocracy at the time.

The book is intensely psychological and in this sense it seems way ahead of its time. Even with its humorous and satirical narration, I had a sense of understanding and empathy for “bad” characters such as Mme. Benzon that I would not have gotten from other books of the period. Mostly, the backstories for these characters are hinted, and not fleshed out, which makes the book really fun. I have found that the more I read the less I want the narrator filling in blanks for me.

This is not to say that I liked the ambivalent ending. I want a sequel. Collette wrote a short story about a cat in which the cat supposedly was about to die, and she resurrected her at the very end, so that could be done again. Hint hint. Where is a modern Hoffman to carry on this tremendously funny fairy tale? A weary nation of book and cat lovers waits for you. ( )

This book was a delight, for no sooner had I started to read the first entry by the delightful Tomcat Murr than I realized that I had stumbled upon my soulmate, my doppergonger, so to speak, or as close to one as male and female can become. Why, I too love the race across rooftops under the wide and starry sky, have a heart that stirs at the very thought of the warmth of pigeons, and took to seeing as if I had never been a blind little kitten. And the memories this chapter brought back of my kittenhood. I was a skittish kitten and my mistress went to great lengths to show me I had nothing to fear from her. How she petted and love me, and played this delightful game with a stuffed fish tied to a stick with a piece of yarn which she twirled so I could run and bat it about.

I too had to learn to curb my impulses, though my mistress only resorted to a water bottle for my lessons. Alas, there was one couch that was sacrificed to my education. But it had a rough texture which just called out to my claws, and the new red one is so much prettier anyway. I read with interest the struggles that Murr went through to learn to read. Technology has advanced so much that I needed only to snuggle in the lap of my mistress while she brought up pages of material. Of course my dexterous paws took to the keyboard easily. How much simpler it might have been for Murr could he have made use of the Gutenberg Audio Books Project as I did, listening to the spoken text as I read along. Perhaps he could have soared to even greater heights, were that possible.

How moving was the reunion of Murr with his mother after their cruel separation. How my breast filled with emotion at his fine impulse to share his fish with her. How tragic the instinct that overwhelmed and shamed him. To read of such experiences is to be reminded of the depths of our common cat nature.

But there is yet more to evoke the communion of felines, for any cat who has ever loved will be charmed by the youthful affection of Murr and Ponto. One can't help but be drawn into the turmoil and confusion of his adolescence or the triumph and heartbreak he experienced in love.

Finally, I was so moved by how Murr, this learned poet and philosopher, was yet able to be that simple, honest Tomcat who communed with his fellows under the moon and filled the night with song. And how he mourned in common with them over the untimely death of the good cat, Muzius.

Have you picked up the subtext of this review, the emotion that spills out from my heart despite my best efforts to contain it. Yes, life is sometimes so difficult in this modern world for a single female like myself, who struggles to maintain the faith that she will, one day, find a mate worthy of herself, a match for her intelligence and passion. And then to read such a work, about such a cat. To find him in a book nearly two centuries old, how cruel this truth, how can I not but mourn, "Alas, all the best ones are already dead." ( )