The story delves into guilt, identity, and the nature of human relationships, unraveling these themes through the lens of the protagonist's psychological journey, which primarily takes place in his head.
»Acquitted for lack of evidence. How does one live with that? I’m fifty-four.«
The novel follows the life of Dr. Felix Schaad, a physician recently acquitted of murdering his wife, Rosalinde. Although legally cleared, Schaad is tormented by inner doubts and societal judgment. Through a blend of courtroom drama, introspective monologues, and philosophical questioning, the author delves into Schaad's psyche, exposing the fragility of truth and the blurred line between innocence and guilt.
Max Frisch (1911–1991) was a Swiss playwright, journalist, and novelist. Born in Zurich, he initially pursued a career in architecture, following in his father's footsteps, after abandoning his studies in German literature. Throughout his younger years, Frisch struggled with a conflict between a conventional and an artistic life, viewing them as incompatible. He later found a way, transitioning to writing full-time after achieving success with his early works, like Homo Faber (1957).
Blaubart (1982) is marked by a minimalist prose style, reflecting his later-career shift toward narrative simplicity and reduction. Frisch withdrew from writing novels after its publication.
The inspiration for Blaubart came from a murder trial in Zurich in 1980, where a man was accused of killing his wife but was later acquitted. Frisch closely followed the trial, not out of fascination with the crime, but because of the legal system's handling of truth. He attended nearly all sessions of the trial, observing the process of extracting truth through language. The case and its underlying questions about guilt and truth became a way for Frisch to return to writing after a deep writer’s block. Initially, Frisch had considered titling the novel Die Wahrheit und nichts als die Wahrheit (»The Truth and Nothing but the Truth«).
In a notebook entry from 1982 posthumously published in Drafts for a Third Sketchbook (2010), Frisch comments on the publication of Bluebeard:
»What have I written? A grimace.«
I didn’t set out to read Blaubart — it was more of an accident. I had been looking for another Blaubart, the one featured in Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Japanese thriller Cure, but I somehow ended up with Max Frisch’s novel instead. To my relief, it turned out to be a classic — although not what I expected — by an author I was already familiar with from Homo Faber, which still lingers on my to be read list.
What I didn’t realize at first was that Blaubart is one of Frisch’s later, more minimalist works. The sparse prose didn’t really suit me, and I found it hard to fully appreciate. The dialogue often felt flat, and at times even irritating — though I suspect this was intentional. And honestly, nothing happens. By the halfway point, reading felt more like a chore, but I kept telling myself, “It’s too late to quit now.”
Despite the slow progression, I have to admit that the ending was worth it. The last pages were full of revelations, unraveling everything that came before at a breakneck pace. It was in these final moment that I found real enjoyment, as everything clicked together, almost redeeming the lengthy sections before. The ending is what made the book for me, transforming what felt like a boring read into something with more meaning.
One thing I’ve never encountered before is how this novel made me reflect on guilt. Frisch explores how we often feel responsible for things that we aren’t truly to blame for — burdening ourselves with guilt for circumstances beyond our control. What exactly is guilt, and how do we deal with it? Courts may declare us innocent, but we still sometimes hold onto a sense of personal responsibility, even when it’s irrational. This exploration left me with a fresh perspective on how we process guilt both individually and as a society.
In the end, I can recommend Blaubart — though with some reservations. It’s not a must-read, but if you’re a fan of Frisch or enjoy courtroom dramas with a psychological twist, it’s worth exploring.
Reading Blaubart also reminded me of The Stranger by Albert Camus. Both novels feature trials that focus less on the crime itself and more on the personal lives and contexts of the accused. In each case, the legal proceedings are used as a way to explore broader philosophical questions about life, identity, and moral responsibility. That said, I found The Stranger to be more engaging in its style and dynamic narrative.
