The Sandmann

A young man named Nathanael is consumed by stress as he begins to lose his grip on reality. Obsessed by a dark force, he must confront his deepest fears and desires. Caught between reality and delusion, he is relentlessly pursued by a mysterious figure — the Sandman. A tale of psychological unease, where nothing is as it seems, and every step forward draws him further into the unknown.

A 1922 tribute by Robert Stuhlmann, Hamburg describes E.T.A. Hoffmann as an artist who was often misunderstood yet far from unsuccessful. Born on January 24 1776, in Königsberg, Prussia (now Kaliningrad, Russia) he grew up in a strict environment after his parents separation, raised by his mother and uncle.

Ernst Theodor Amadeus (E.T.A.) Hoffmann was originally named Ernst Theodor Wilhelm (E.T.W.) Hoffmann. However, he later changed his middle name to Amadeus as a tribute to his admiration for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Though he studied law at the University of Königsberg and worked as a jurist, his heart belonged to the arts. His sharp satirical caricatures of high ranking officials repeatedly landed him in trouble, resulting in transfers and setbacks. Despite struggles with financial instability and illness, partly due to his alcoholism, Hoffmann never abandoned his artistic visions. As a composer, he contributed to the Romantic movement in music, though his works are largely forgotten today. His skills as a painter & illustrator worked well with his literature, adding visual depth to his stories.

Hoffmann is widely regarded as one of the most significant German language storytellers with Goethe and Kafka. His works, shaped by 18th-century ghost stories, English Gothic fiction, and early Romantic fairy tales, had a profound impact on literature far beyond Germany. His tale The Nutcracker & the Mouse King inspired Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker. Russian, French, American, and Spanish writers drew from his style, particularly his ability to blur lines between reality and the supernatural. He challenged Enlightenment ideals of pure rationality, portraying characters trapped between reason and madness, dream and reality.

One of his famous stories The Sandman, published in 1816 as part of the collection Nachtstücke (Night Pieces), is a good example of his fascination with the uncanny. The story combines psychological horror with existential questions about identity, perception and fragility of the human mind. At the time some were disturbed by its unsettling themes, questioning why someone would write such grotesque and nightmarish tales.

»Why should not a writer be permitted to make use of the levers of fear, terror and horror because some feeble soul here and there finds it more than it can bear? Shall there be no strong meat at table because there happen to be some guests there whose stomachs are weak, or who have spoiled their own digestions?«

E.T.A. Hoffmann, who had suffered from health issues since 1818, was struck by a progressive paralysis in 1822, the cause of which remains unclear. The condition started in his feet and legs and quickly spread to his arms, eventually leading to loss of speech and respiratory paralysis. Despite his physical decline, Hoffmann’s mental faculties remained intact.

In February 1822, he faced disciplinary action for his misconduct as a civil servant, though this was delayed due to his illness. Hoffmann continued to write, dictating, until he passed away on June 25, 1822, at the age of 46 due to failure of the lungs.

My search for eerie fiction led me to Freud’s essay The Uncanny (1919) where he goes into the unsettling feeling through the lens of The Sandman by E.T.A. Hoffmann, who had been on my reading list for a while. When I found an edition that had the story and Freud's analysis, I gave it a go.

Hoffmann starts with a series of letters, creating the illusion that everything happening in the story is real. These letters build a connection to the characters, gradually revealing more of the truth. Then, the narrative abruptly shifts to a unknown narrator, who tells us the entire story in an uncensored matter. This layered storytelling creates an immersive, almost cinematic effect, keeping the reader on edge and fully engaged.

The story's motifs centre around the uncanny. The recurring presence of eyes symbolizing fear, perception, and loss. Fire representing destruction and transformation. And then there’s the theme of the doppelgänger, embodied by Coppelius and Coppola, whose identities remain unclear.

»I saw human faces around without any eyes — but with deep holes instead. "Eyes here, eyes!" said Coppelius in a dull roaring voice.«

Then there's Olimpia — the puppet mistaken for a living woman. Her presence is unsettling, tapping into a primal discomfort in us with artificial life (uncanny valley). Hoffmann draws inspiration from early automata, such as those crafted by Swiss Jaquet Droz or the (fake) Mechanical Turk but also folklore, much like Mary Shelley did with Frankenstein. Hoffmann weaves these influences into psychological horror so effectively that the story feels disturbingly real.

At its core, The Sandman reads like a dark fairy tale for adults. It shares moral aspects similar to those found in children's fairy tales, but more intriguing for adults — specifically themes of Enlightenment versus Romanticism and the descent into madness caused by isolation and art. It’s a brilliant example of how fiction can explore complex ideas about human nature and critique its historical context without mentioning it. Even when read at a surface level, it remains an engaging and captivating tale.

Freud’s essay, on the other hand, was underwhelming. I expected a more scientific approach to the concept of the uncanny but found his conclusions outdated and overly fixated on psychoanalysis. While he occasionally reaches valid insights, his reasoning often seems random — like a horoscope that accidentally lands on the truth. One of the most striking points is his claim that Coppelius and Coppola are the same person. To me, that's not necessary and Hoffmann leaves it open.

In the end, The Sandman is a must-read — unsettling, thought-provoking and far ahead of its time. Freud’s essay? More of a historical curiosity than a groundbreaking revelation. Still, reading both deepened my appreciation for the story.