Walser’s antihero, Franz Horn used to be a successful businessman at a denture manufacturing company, but in the present day of the novel, things don’t look so bright for him anymore: he keeps screwing up business deals, he misses out on opportunities, he reacts badly to everything, he never feels at home in anything, and in general he feels that life, success, love, and happiness had passed him by long-long ago.
Franz Horn’s world is a bleak one – a world all about the surface, full of superficial politeness, and sophisticated business and family games. There’s no „real” life in this world, and joy, meaning, and personality all disintegrate in this terrifying simulacrum of reality.
Speaking of simulacra and fake lives: it’s probably not an accident that Horn works in the denture industry – phony polite smiles, teeth clenched in anger and frustration, forced laughs all play a big part in this novel – you’ll need new dentures after all this. And of course there’s the contradiction and ambiguity inherent in dentures: it’s clear even when you look at the most perfect set that you’re looking at fake teeth – and perhaps one revealing sign is that a set of dentures is always perfect. But could a company manufacture natural-looking, perhaps crooked, perhaps nicotine-stained dentures? Of course not, so once you get to the point that you need dentures (and in the great 20th century welfare state Walser talks about so cynically, we’ll all need them sooner or later), you’ll just have to accept a perfect set of teeth. A fake, unnatural set with which you cannot smile one honest smile.
In the present day of the novel – which is the story of only a couple of days – we’re well into the era of fake smiles. In the story Horn goes on a business trip to England where – as is now his custom – he screws things up badly, and then he returns to Germany. (Where something else happens, but he screws that one up, too.)
During the course of these days Horn’s mind wanders all around in a stream-of-consciousness or randomly associative style, and in his thoughts he relives the most painful, most irritating, most embarrassing events of the last few years in his job and in his now defunct marriage. Often these are tiny little things: for example, how Dr. Liszt, the new wunderkind at the company, a calculating and devious asshole, always manages to be so fucking infuriatingly polite, and how because of his politeness no-one can find fault with him. Or how irritating it is that all Horn’s fights with his wife end with the recurrent line: we have to move to a bigger place because we can’t fit into this apartment.
So yeah – these are just the usual everyday oppression and power games. They are meaningless, they don’t lead anywhere, and any attempt at fighting against or resisting them is bound to be meaningless, too. Horn tries to rebel against his lot – for example, in his lonely home, he sneeringly toasts his perfect-muscular-healthy boss with his sixth beer of the evening, exactly because the boss hates how Horn’s beer smell and beer belly gets more and more noticeable as the days go by. Naturally, the boss doesn’t see Horn’s childish rebellion – and even if he did, he’d just smile his impenetrable, indulgent, lightly condescending smile and would ask Horn in a friendly-manipulative manner to please be more considerate about this or that.
There’s no escape, and there’s no hope or chance for something (more) real. Sure, Horn at least keeps trying – at least he still sees the emptiness and meaninglessness around him, while others are content living fake lives. But I’m not at all sure who has it better in the end.