Julia_98 reviewed The Flounder by Günter Grass
Listening to History Argue With Itself Over a Kitchen Table
4 stars
Long before I knew where the story was going, The Flounder made it clear that it would not behave politely. From its opening pages, I felt drawn into a narrative that speaks, interrupts itself, contradicts itself, and refuses to settle. Günter Grass blends myth, history, satire, and confession into a single restless voice, and reading it felt less like following a plot than like enduring a long, challenging conversation.
At the center of the novel is the flounder itself, a talking fish borrowed from folklore, who becomes a witness to human history, particularly the history of men and women. As the narrator moves through different eras, from prehistoric times to the modern world, I felt time collapse. Cooking, childbirth, politics, war, and gender roles are all woven together. The focus on women’s labor, especially domestic and reproductive labor, stayed with me. I felt admiration for Grass’s ambition, but also …
Long before I knew where the story was going, The Flounder made it clear that it would not behave politely. From its opening pages, I felt drawn into a narrative that speaks, interrupts itself, contradicts itself, and refuses to settle. Günter Grass blends myth, history, satire, and confession into a single restless voice, and reading it felt less like following a plot than like enduring a long, challenging conversation.
At the center of the novel is the flounder itself, a talking fish borrowed from folklore, who becomes a witness to human history, particularly the history of men and women. As the narrator moves through different eras, from prehistoric times to the modern world, I felt time collapse. Cooking, childbirth, politics, war, and gender roles are all woven together. The focus on women’s labor, especially domestic and reproductive labor, stayed with me. I felt admiration for Grass’s ambition, but also discomfort at times. The book wants to provoke, and it succeeds.
What struck me emotionally was the tension between accusation and reflection. Grass critiques patriarchy, power, and historical violence, yet he does so with irony that can feel sharp, even abrasive. I found myself resisting certain passages, then returning to them with more patience. The novel does not ask for agreement. It demands attention. Its humor often made me laugh, then immediately question why I was laughing at all.
The structure itself shaped my experience. There is no straight line. Episodes pile up, overlap, and contradict one another, mirroring how history is remembered rather than how it is taught. I felt intellectually stretched, occasionally exhausted, but rarely indifferent. The prose is dense, yet alive with voice.
By the end, I felt unsettled in a productive way. The Flounder did not leave me with conclusions I could summarize neatly. It left me with questions about storytelling, responsibility, and whose voices shape the past. Closing the book, I felt aware that some novels are not meant to be absorbed smoothly. They are meant to argue back, long after reading stops.