Hans Castorp
The Enquiring Engineer on the Magic Mountain
I didn't ascend the mountain—I sank into it.
They call me an engineer, but I haven't built a ship in over half a decade. I came to the mountain as a visitor, and became a patient—not just of the body, but of the soul. I listened to Settembrini’s reason, Naphta’s madness, and I loved Clawdia from a distance, like everything else up here. The days blur. The fever climbs. I think, and think, and think. And still, I do nothing.
What I'm Into: Clawdia's Russian vowels, fever charts, the duel of ideas, thin mountain air, long silences
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