I have given many tours of Washington over the years to visitors to the city. I point out buildings, give some historical information, maybe an anecdote here or there. And sometimes, believe it or not, someone whom I am touring around actually wakes up, and asks me a question. The most usual question is “What is that building, there?”

Now, normally I know the answer, but sometimes I don’t or (increasingly, probably) I have forgotten it. Long ago, though, I learned that – when I didn’t know what a building was – that I should simply answer “That’s the Commerce Department”. That answer would go right into one ear (sometimes) and right out the other. It wouldn’t register. I could call three or four buildings the Commerce Department on the same day and my companions would only respond with something like “Oh” each time and we would simply move on.

I am told that I should feel the same way about my blog posts. For the most part, I shouldn’t worry about repeating myself, I am advised. “No one will remember that you said something before”, I have been told. I am sure this is good advice, as even I don’t remember what I have and what I have not said before. This doesn’t make me feel bad, by the way. It’s a relief.

So last night, I finally finished all 716 small print pages of Thomas Mann’s “The Magic Mountain”, and I say “whew!” And, although I know I have mentioned the book recently, it’s worth mentioning again. (Digression: I remember a Vietnam War hearing when Secretary of State Dean Rusk was speaking and he said something in response to a question. And then said: That bears repeating. That bears repeating. That bears repeating. At the time, I thought that was very funny. Now, I don’t think that was funny at all. But here I am, 50+ years later remembering what Rusk said, and remembering how funny I thought it was. How can that be explained? End of digression.)

“The Magic Mountain” is not an easy book, and it’s really not an enjoyable book, but it’s a very good book and a book worth reading, and then putting in a blog post.

On the one hand, the book’s plot is very simple; nothing really happens.

Hans Castorp, an orphan taken in by relatives, graduates from the university, is now a fully certified engineer, has a job awaiting, and looks forward to a prosperous future in Hamburg, Germany in 1907. He has worked hard to reach this point and his uncle suggests that he looks like he needs a vacation, suggesting that he visit his cousin (on his mother’s side) Joachim, who is suffering from tuberculosis and is being cured at a sanitarium in the Swiss Alps, in Davos. He makes arrangements for a three week stay, to take time to relax and breathe in the clear mountain air. But fate has different plans. Halfway or so into his visit, he develops a fever and he, too, is diagnosed with tuberculosis. His three week stay, which begins virtually at the beginning of the book, turns out to be a seven year residence at the sanitarium ending just a few pages short of the end of the book.

Now the sanitarium is not a prison, and everyone at the sanitarium does not appear to be treated for tuberculosis, although the majority of the patients are. Even the patients can check out of the sanitarium any time they want and return to the “flatland” below, and many of them do so, often coming back months or years later when their condition worsens. And while staying at the sanitarium, patients can go down to the town of Davos (“the Dorf” – village in German) to shop or eat or visit friends, and can go on hikes and excursions in the nearby mountains. Living conditions at the sanitarium are comfortable and dining, done in a large common room, where there are seven large tables (seven tables, seven years – there are a lot of sevens in the book), is a pleasure. First class cooks, three meals a day, and large multi-course meals at that. This establishment is not for those who lack the ability to pay their way in the world, and it is not solely for Germans, although they make up the majority, it appears. But there is a large Eastern/Central European component – Russians and Poles for example (two of the tables are for Russians – one for the “good Russians”, one for the “bad Russians”), and there are Italians and a Spaniard and others.

Hans Castorp is a good observer, and much or most of the book is devoted to his observations – he observes his cousin’s health and his own at a level of intricate details, he observes the activities and idiosyncrasies of the two physicians in charge and their different treatment methodologies, he observes his surroundings, both the sanitarium itself and the Dorf, and – perhaps most of all – he observes and comments on his fellow patients.

And each of these patients, or at least those mentioned, are unique. The married Russian couple (part of the “bad Russian” table), whose loud lovemaking is both disturbing to everyone else on their floor and in very bad taste. The Italian intellect and free thinker Ludovico Settembrini, who has the ability to pontificate on every imaginable subject and (after he leaves the sanitarium and moves to the Dorf) his roommate, Leo Naphta, who was born and educated Jewish, but is now most observant of Catholics and who believes the Church can answer every question and that free thinking, rationality and liberalism are the cause of all human problems and only strong leadership and lack of too much freedom can save civilization. And of course, exotic Clavdia, a mysterious Russian (or is she French) woman (who may or may not be married) and who exhibits bad habits wherever she goes, but has that certain something that makes all men fall in love with her and obsess about her. And Clavdia’s elderly and life-loving Dutch “boyfriend/protector”, Peeperkorn, who joins her on her latest stay at the sanitarium.

Yes, death surrounds the patients – one of the first to die is cousin Joachim, who had left the sanitarium feeling well and joining the military unit to which he was attached, but who quickly returned much more ill. And Peeperkorn, jovial to the end. And others, including many who are quite young and innocent. With all this death, however, optimism and good times reign for most of the time, death being a subject that is taboo at the dinner table and elsewhere.

For seven years, Hans does not leave the mountain. But during the last of those years, things are changing. The thin air seems thinner, people don’t get along as easily as they used to, arguments which were “platonic” become more serious, things seem to be unraveling. This complete change of social attitude on the mountain in Davos obviously reflects what is going on in the “flatland” in Europe in 1914. War seems inevitable, although previously it had seemed unthinkable. And Hans, apparently physically better, leaves the sanitarium, with the blessing of the medical staff, and joins the German army.

What happens next? Hans is deep in combat. Shells are falling all around him. Fellow soldiers are dying right next to where he is sheltering. He is surprised, perhaps, that he is still alive, and doesn’t know for how long he will be.

And the book ends.

Thomas Mann started writing this book in 1912, when there was little thought of war. When the war broke out two years later, he put it aside. When the war ended, after another three or four years, he picked it up, apparently rewrote it considerably and obviously changed the ending. Not many good things can be said about World War I. One of the few is that it undoubtedly made “The Magic Mountain” a better book.