Perry's Reviews > Steppenwolf

The Best Novel on the Intellectual Male's Midlife Crisis

I might well have ridiculed this novel at 20, when I was unconquerable, infinite, the world my oyster. Thirty years on, having been through the process of disenchantment called life, and survived the tragic ends (de facto and de jure) of each chapter of my personal myth--the perfect job, a huge house, insane wealth, and adoration of both my looks and smarts--I find this novel profound.

Hermann Hesse wrote this in his late 40s and I can see parts of myself--now and in my recent past--in his fictional alter ego, Harry Haller, a self-isolated intellectual who thinks of himself as a steppenwolf (or a wolf from the steppes), experiencing an ongoing existential crisis, bouts of acute loneliness, fleeting thoughts of death, and a continuing coming to terms with a bourgeois society which he hates yet needs. I can see the wisdom of a life lived, in terms spiritual and at times--even still--animalistic.

I found fascinating the magic theatre to which Harry was invited, a place which serves as a reminder of why he should want to live, allowing him to experience encounters (not necessarily sexual) with females from his past, meetings with these unrequited loves or lusts in which he's no longer shy nor suffering the hangups and insecurities of a young man or boy.

Variations of this magical venue often pepper my dreams. Call them my subconscious yawps for immortality, or maybe, on a deeper level, my psyche's nocturnal pursuits of prurient propagation.

I highly recommend this novel to men in their 40s and 50s, and to their spouses/partners for possible enlightenment.