themselves: “We ostentatiously took part in the penitent pilgrimages of the men of Cologne,” Böll writes, “tolerated by the Nazis and watched by informers.” In private, they cursed Hitler and his thuggish friends with what Böll describes as “arrogance,” mocking them and telling jokes.
What’s to Become of the Boy ends when Böll finishes school—at last—on the eve of the outbreak of war. Afterwards, he went to work at a bookstore, but not for long. He was soon drafted, and spent six miserable years in the Wehrmacht before deserting in 1945. His first novel drew heavily on these military experiences, and won him instant fame. From the 1950s onwards, Böll was known as a writer of “Trümmerliteratur”—the “literature of the rubble”—because his writing focused on the war, the aftermath of the war, and the impact of the war on German society and the German psyche. In his lifetime, he was one of the most famous advocates of Vergangenheitsbewältigung , an ubiquitous German word which, roughly translated, means “coming to terms with the past.”
Yet this short description of the years preceding the war also contains many of the themes which Böll would explore in his later novels. The hypocrisy of public life, as opposed to the authenticity of private life; the stupidity of mobs, and of bureaucrats; even Böll’s dislike of the excesses of capitalism is evident here, in his almost nostalgic portrayal of the joys of life without money. His occasionally sanctimonious vision of himself as an “outsider,” someone who never fit into ordinary German life—whether Nazi Germany or postwar bourgeois Germany—is evident here too. So is his elegant, crisp and authoritative literary style.
In other words, What’s to Become of the Boy makes an ideal short introduction to Böll, the writer, as well as to Böll, the person. At the same time, it offers an unusual perspective on Hitler’s ascent to power: the rise of totalitarianism and the stultification of civil society, as seen through the eyes of a teenage boy.
WHAT’S TO BECOME OF THE BOY?
For Samay, Sara, and Boris
1
On January 30, 1933, I was fifteen years and six weeks old, and almost exactly four years later, on February 6, 1937, when I was nineteen years and seven weeks old, I graduated from high school with a “Certificate of Maturity.” This certificate contains two errors: my date of birth is incorrect, and my choice of career—“book trade”—was altered by the school principal, without consulting me, to “publishing,” I have no idea why. These two errors, which I cherish, justify me in regarding all the other particulars, including my grades, with some skepticism.
I didn’t discover either of these errors until two years later, when, as the 1939 university summer term was about to begin, I looked at the certificate before handing it in to the University of Cologne and discovered the incorrect birth date. It would never have occurred to me to have an error of that kind in such a solemn official document corrected: that error permits me to entertain a certain doubt as to whether I am really the person who is certified thereon as mature. Might the document refer to someone else? If so, to whom? This little game also allows me to consider the possibility that the entire document may be invalid.
There are a few further points that I must clarify. If it should be regarded as mandatory for German authorsto have “suffered” under the school system, I must once again appear to have failed in my duty. Of course I suffered (do I hear a voice: “Who, old or young, does not suffer”?), but not in school. I maintain that I never let things get that far. I dealt with each problem as it arose, as I so often did in later life, aware of the implications. How, is something I shall explain later. I did find the transition from elementary to high school briefly painful, but I was ten at the time, so this is not relevant to the period I wish
What’s to Become of the Boy ends when Böll finishes school—at last—on the eve of the outbreak of war. Afterwards, he went to work at a bookstore, but not for long. He was soon drafted, and spent six miserable years in the Wehrmacht before deserting in 1945. His first novel drew heavily on these military experiences, and won him instant fame. From the 1950s onwards, Böll was known as a writer of “Trümmerliteratur”—the “literature of the rubble”—because his writing focused on the war, the aftermath of the war, and the impact of the war on German society and the German psyche. In his lifetime, he was one of the most famous advocates of Vergangenheitsbewältigung , an ubiquitous German word which, roughly translated, means “coming to terms with the past.”
Yet this short description of the years preceding the war also contains many of the themes which Böll would explore in his later novels. The hypocrisy of public life, as opposed to the authenticity of private life; the stupidity of mobs, and of bureaucrats; even Böll’s dislike of the excesses of capitalism is evident here, in his almost nostalgic portrayal of the joys of life without money. His occasionally sanctimonious vision of himself as an “outsider,” someone who never fit into ordinary German life—whether Nazi Germany or postwar bourgeois Germany—is evident here too. So is his elegant, crisp and authoritative literary style.
In other words, What’s to Become of the Boy makes an ideal short introduction to Böll, the writer, as well as to Böll, the person. At the same time, it offers an unusual perspective on Hitler’s ascent to power: the rise of totalitarianism and the stultification of civil society, as seen through the eyes of a teenage boy.
WHAT’S TO BECOME OF THE BOY?
For Samay, Sara, and Boris
1
On January 30, 1933, I was fifteen years and six weeks old, and almost exactly four years later, on February 6, 1937, when I was nineteen years and seven weeks old, I graduated from high school with a “Certificate of Maturity.” This certificate contains two errors: my date of birth is incorrect, and my choice of career—“book trade”—was altered by the school principal, without consulting me, to “publishing,” I have no idea why. These two errors, which I cherish, justify me in regarding all the other particulars, including my grades, with some skepticism.
I didn’t discover either of these errors until two years later, when, as the 1939 university summer term was about to begin, I looked at the certificate before handing it in to the University of Cologne and discovered the incorrect birth date. It would never have occurred to me to have an error of that kind in such a solemn official document corrected: that error permits me to entertain a certain doubt as to whether I am really the person who is certified thereon as mature. Might the document refer to someone else? If so, to whom? This little game also allows me to consider the possibility that the entire document may be invalid.
There are a few further points that I must clarify. If it should be regarded as mandatory for German authorsto have “suffered” under the school system, I must once again appear to have failed in my duty. Of course I suffered (do I hear a voice: “Who, old or young, does not suffer”?), but not in school. I maintain that I never let things get that far. I dealt with each problem as it arose, as I so often did in later life, aware of the implications. How, is something I shall explain later. I did find the transition from elementary to high school briefly painful, but I was ten at the time, so this is not relevant to the period I wish
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