In this blog post, we’ll examine—through ‘Berlin Alexanderplatz’—the fate of people living amid the chaos, crime, and poverty of a metropolis, as well as the significance of the changes that take place within that context.
The Metropolis as the Protagonist
“Berlin Alexanderplatz” is Alfred Döblin’s masterpiece and one of the most important works of modern German literature. Published in October 1929, it achieved worldwide success, being translated into numerous languages almost immediately. Through this work, Döblin not only overcame his financial difficulties but also established himself as a leading author of the Weimar Republic era. Unlike his earlier works, which were set in geographically distant places like China or India, or against the backdrop of historically remote events such as the Thirty Years’ War, ‘Berlin Alexanderplatz’ stands out for its in-depth portrayal of Berlin during the author’s own lifetime. In particular, the novel’s experimental approach—which depicts the landscape of a modern metropolis and the lives of its inhabitants in a way distinct from conventional fiction—makes it clear why this work is regarded as a seminal piece of 20th-century German literature.
This vast novel, comprising a total of nine volumes, centers on the life of the criminal Franz Weberkopp while simultaneously capturing the essence of the city of Berlin through various narrative techniques. Rather than following a single character’s life in a linear, consistent manner as in traditional novels, it directly quotes primary sources, employs cinematic composition, and utilizes a nonlinear narrative structure. Since Franz Bieberkopf’s life is presented in fragments, readers accustomed to traditional novels may find it challenging to follow. However, considering that these modern novelistic techniques are themselves a product of their time, it becomes clear that the work’s form is closely intertwined with its content. Döblin did not merely depict the spirit of the times through content alone; he also reflected the ways in which people in modern metropolises perceive and experience the world in the novel’s style and form.
Particularly striking is the “montage” technique, which involves juxtaposing disparate texts of different natures. This method is similar to a collage in art, where materials with different textures—such as fabric, vinyl, tiles, pieces of wood, paper, and labels—are arranged to form a single composition. Throughout the novel, completely disparate texts—such as street vendors’ cries, advertisements, weather forecasts, a patient’s diary, science textbooks, pop song lyrics, flyers, literary works, Bible verses, newspaper articles, and government notices—constantly interject themselves into the narrative. The characters’ thoughts are also presented directly—without an intermediary narrator—through “stream of consciousness,” internal monologue, or first-person narration. While the thoughts arising in the characters’ minds are revealed exactly as they occur, without the storyteller’s explanation, the narrative also features sudden and discontinuous scene transitions, much like in a film.
At first, this structure might make the story feel disjointed, but I came to believe that it actually aligns precisely with the reality the work depicts. The way different elements intermingle and collide directly reveals the heterogeneous nature of modern metropolises—spaces of modernity where, in the traditional sense, the concept of totality has collapsed. This connects to the idea that while classical works of art sought harmony, contemporary art must instead present the heterogeneity of reality as it is. If we force different elements of reality into harmony or organize them into a single order, we run the risk of presenting a false reconciliation with reality. It is in this same context that we can understand how avant-garde art movements—such as Expressionism, Futurism, Dadaism, and Surrealism—sought to transcend existing, limited forms in the face of a new reality. In this sense, Döblin created, through ‘Berlin Alexanderplatz’, a new form of narrative literature suited to the transformed space-time of the 20th-century metropolis.
Berlin: A Vast Living Space
The setting of this work is, above all, the metropolis of Berlin. At the time, Berlin was emerging as one of the leading cities of continental Europe alongside Paris and Vienna, and by the late 1920s—when Döblin was writing the work—it had expanded to incorporate surrounding areas, becoming a metropolis with a population of 4 million. The metropolis was a space that most vividly revealed the various facets of modern life. Consequently, in the theater, film, and novels of the time, the metropolis appeared as a space akin to the Tower of Babel—massive, yet dangerous and alluring. Just as James Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’ depicted Dublin, the capital of Ireland, and D’Espers’ ‘Manhattan Transfer’ portrayed early 20th-century New York, ‘Berlin Alexanderplatz’ can be considered a monumental work capturing the state of Berlin in the late 1920s, a period of turmoil immediately following World War I.
Above all, I found it significant that the title consists solely of the place name “Berlin Alexanderplatz.” It is said that the subtitle, “A Story About Franz Bieberkopf,” was added at the publisher’s request. If that is the case, it is only natural to interpret the true protagonist of this work not as Franz Bieberkopf alone, but as the city of Berlin itself. This is because, even as we follow Franz’s life, Berlin continually reveals itself as a presence far greater than he is.
For the author Döblin, Berlin was not merely the setting for his work but also the space where he lived his actual life. Döblin was born in Stettin, at the mouth of the Oder River, but when he was around ten years old, his father abandoned the family and fled to the United States after having an affair with a woman twenty years his junior; as a result, his mother and five siblings moved to Berlin to live with his uncle. There, the family endured a difficult life, and Döblin grew up and attended school in Berlin. From his teenage years onward, he experienced both the technological progress of the metropolis and the dark underbelly behind it; later, while working as a doctor, he established his practice in East Berlin, a working-class neighborhood where Alexanderplatz is located.
Alexanderplatz, as a new civilizational space, is the place that most concisely embodies the character of the metropolis. As evidenced by the subway construction sites, railway projects, and redevelopment projects that repeatedly appear in the novel, this is a dynamic space where creation and destruction occur ceaselessly. At the same time, while serving as a hub for commerce, transportation, and administration, it is also the primary stage where the poor and the working class—symbolic figures of the metropolis—live their lives. While practicing medicine here, Döblin was able to gain deep insight into the urban environment of Berlin through his direct contact with city dwellers from diverse social strata. What he encountered was the reality of a metropolis—a reality so colorful and bizarre as to defy all imagination, yet one in which all of society’s contradictions were concentrated in a single place.
As a psychiatrist, he was familiar not only with the people on the margins of society—such as poor workers and criminals—and the situations they faced, but also with their language. Consequently, their lives appear in their raw form throughout the novel, and the Berlin dialect and the colloquial speech of marginalized people are reproduced without filter. However, unlike Brecht, Döblin does not aim for change from a political perspective when describing the social situations he experienced. The world of the metropolis as he sees it is, rather, closer to a “world of two gods” where construction and ruin, order and chaos coexist, and the ups and downs of life constantly intersect. And this vision of the world is mirrored in the life of Franz Weberkopf.
The Downfall and Rebirth of Franz Weberkopf
Reading this work and following Franz Weberkopf’s life was not only a matter of observing the fate of a single human being but also of witnessing just how powerless an individual is within the vast currents of the metropolis. It is said that Döblin did not write the novel with a complete plot outline in advance, but rather followed the fate and path of a man who had failed in life—a man he had personally observed and experienced. This approach to writing is connected to his belief that an artist must draw closer to life.
Consequently, the way characters are portrayed in this novel differs from that of traditional fiction. Rather than providing a detailed analysis of the characters’ subjective psychology and inner lives, the narrative focuses on observing and listing their actions and the events they experience. Around the time he wrote this work, Dublin also expressed his belief—in an essay on “The Structure of Narrative Works”—that art must be liberated from the fictional world and integrated with life. Unlike Marinetti of the Futurist movement, who sought to mechanically mimic the world of objects created by industrial civilization—much like a phonograph—Dublin believed that literature must immerse itself directly into the lived reality of metropolitan life.
To depict the overall landscape of metropolitan life, the novel features a free and omniscient narrator, while also employing a narrative style that blends materials such as reports and sketches in a montage-like manner and integrates them with the characters. Although the narrator intervenes in the story, the narrative does not always flow smoothly. Rather, the transitions are often unnatural and disjointed. This is because the countless voices, scenes, and quotations coming from all directions are presented as they are, without explanation. Onomatopoeia is used to recreate the altered auditory environment, and short, fast-paced sentences follow one another in rhythm with rapid, repetitive movements. Just as Cubist paintings depict objects using multiple vanishing points instead of a single one, the narrative employs a discontinuous and parallel style.
The novel begins with Franz Bieberkopf—a cement factory worker and furniture mover—being released from Tegel Prison after serving a four-year sentence for the murder of his lover, Ida. Though he is now a free man, the outside world feels unfamiliar and threatening. At first, he perceives life after release as a “punishment” in itself. Through his inner monologue, the reader gains insight into Franz’s inner world, and he resolves to live “truthfully” from now on. However, his life does not unfold as he intended.
Driven by impulse, he seeks out Ida’s younger sister, Minna, and rapes her. The world, too, refuses to let him live honestly. He barely manages to settle in Berlin by taking up peddling, but after suffering a vile betrayal by his colleague Rüders, he spends his days drunk, wandering the bars of Alexanderplatz. Then, after meeting Reinhold, he gets drawn into the world of criminals and gradually becomes a dangerous figure. He even takes over Reinhold’s woman, and one day, after getting involved in a large-scale theft he didn’t want to be part of, he is thrown from a car and becomes disabled, losing one arm.
Now one-armed, Franz wears the Iron Cross and acts like a war veteran. Later, he meets Mitz, a prostitute from Bernau, and lives as her pimp and a fence for stolen goods. However, he incurs Reinhold’s hatred by boasting about Mitz in front of him and meddling in Reinhold’s private life, which is already troubled by women. Ultimately, tragedy strikes, and even Mitz is murdered. Franz is arrested by the police, but the shock of losing Mieke causes him to completely break down internally and fall into a sort of catatonic state. He is transferred to the Buch Mental Hospital, where the “old Franz” dies and a purified “new Franz” is born. The novel ends with the reborn Franz living a new life as an assistant janitor at a small-to-medium-sized factory.
The Anonymous Life Created by the Metropolis
When depicting events in the criminal underworld of the metropolis, Doblin employs the voice of an omniscient narrator. At the beginning of the novel, the narrator foretells the fate that will befall Franz Bieberkopf in a tone reminiscent of an old-fashioned street ballad singer. Furthermore, in this nine-volume novel, at the start of each new volume, the narrator provides a summary of what is to come, serving as a sort of roadmap for the reader.
The main characters—Franz Bieberkopp, Reinhold, and Mitz—all belong to the proletariat, the lower class of the metropolis. They live their lives spewing wit and unfiltered profanity in the Berlin dialect. However, they are not portrayed merely as individuals with distinct personalities. Rather, they appear as part of a collective, as a group portrait. There is no clear distinction between their words, thoughts, actions, and inner lives; they react instinctively to each situation as it arises. They accept the urban environment that shaped them as if it were a natural habitat and live within it without any particular sense of unease.
Although their lives are filled with hardship and suffering, it is striking that this differs from the existential alienation or anxiety found in the novels of Kafka, Camus, or Sartre. Their suffering is, rather, closer to a “social condition.” The alienation experienced by the proletariat in the metropolis manifests as poverty, unemployment, resigned acceptance of circumstances beyond their control, a struggle of all against all, coexistence with wolf-like beings, and escapism through alcohol and crime. While the characters experience this daily life fatefully and harshly, without much conscious awareness, they do not lose their wit and mobilize every survival strategy at their disposal.
Therefore, I felt that this novel not only depicts the fate of an individual within the social environment of a metropolis but also addresses urban life—dominated by political tensions, unemployment, poverty, and crime—along with the collective fate of a specific social class living within it. Ultimately, rather than highlighting individual characters, the reality of the metropolis itself takes center stage in the work. The characters appear to be drifting through the ceaseless flow of the city, unable to put down roots in reality.
They appear as a group only to vanish suddenly, reappearing amid the chaos of scenes at slaughterhouses or construction sites, chance incidents on the street, political and criminal events reported in newspaper articles, stock market updates, weather forecasts, and a myriad of miscellaneous news items. Yet they are both individual beings and part of an anonymous collective existence. In this way, the metropolis presents itself as a reality indifferent and cold toward individual fates.
The Quest for Meaning Amid Chance and Chaos
In this work, the narrator’s perspective is dual. The narrator moves not from outside the scenes but within them, as if actually residing in the city, and even offers commentary on Franz Bieberkopf. Furthermore, the work blends fictional characters and events created by the author with real-life elements found in Berlin around 1928. Fictional events and characters, along with the reportage-style content observed and recorded by the author, coexist on different levels, recreating the diverse and chaotic life of the metropolis.
Here, the fictional narrative anchors the work, preventing the various materials and chance episodes from devolving into a meaningless list of facts. The montage elements within the novel form loose yet organic connections with the multiple stories unfolding in parallel. And as the story reaches its conclusion, where a single meaning emerges, the fictional narrative begins to gradually distinguish itself from the anonymous daily routines that flow meaninglessly day after day.
The narrator uses the phrase “the way of the world” as an expression that condenses and illustrates life in the metropolis. This can be seen as an attempt to show, in its entirety, how life in the metropolis unfolds. The most striking feature of life in the metropolis is that stories that appear to have no connection to one another unfold simultaneously. Right alongside the story of a young woman suffering from depression who has decided to commit suicide, a ridiculous and trivial incident unfolds in which a court clerk shovels his lunch into his stomach. Everything seems like a coincidence, and the world feels like the realm of a cynical or indifferent god.
In this sense, the metropolis becomes a new model for James Joyce, De Spasers, and Dublin, revealing a society that is impossible to fathom. While it is clear that a collective survival system operates as a whole within the space of the metropolis, it is nearly impossible to trace exactly how that system functions. Furthermore, it is difficult to say that the system constitutes a form imbued with any shared, higher meaning.
Rather, writers like Dublin tend to deconstruct visible connections and break events down into purely individual moments. This is because, amidst the heterogeneous elements that constitute modern life, it is difficult to find an “Idea” as a higher reality, as Hegel conceived it, and it is equally difficult to create meaning that transcends the chance and arbitrariness governing the phenomenal world.
Yet, while this novel depicts life in a metropolis, it also draws upon passages from the Old Testament to imbue trivial everyday events with religious fervor and metaphysical significance. A layer of symbolic, metaphysical, and religious commentary—reflecting on the fundamental human condition—penetrates the surface layer of reality. These two layers are combined particularly strikingly in the slaughterhouse scene.
The slaughterhouse scene powerfully depicts the fragility of individual life and the power of death, which reduces everything to nothingness. Dublin uses a passage from Ecclesiastes—“The fate of man is no different from that of livestock; just as livestock die, so do humans”—as an epigraph to describe the slaughter of livestock, and from that scene, he moves on to human life. In the scene where the animals are slaughtered and the subsequent scene where Mitcha is murdered, the “song of the reaper”—that is, a song about death—is repeated, much like a leitmotif in a film score.
Taken as a whole, the work appears to be a fusion of naturalism and Old Testament-style nihilism. However, this fusion does not give rise to any new meaning. Rather, the widespread theme of the transience of life—or “vanitas”—emphasizes the absence of all meaning, reducing human life to the biological fact that we are ultimately born and must die.
Is a person who has gone through suffering truly reborn?
As the novel progresses, Dublin does not remain confined to a naturalistic and nihilistic perspective but transforms everyday life in the big city into a kind of religious “passion play.” A passion play is a religious drama that originated in the Middle Ages, dealing with the suffering, death, and resurrection of Christ, and sometimes including themes such as the fall of Lucifer, the fall of humanity, and the Last Judgment.
Signs of this Passion play emerge from the realistic depiction of the big city, combined with the insertion of the stories of Job and Abraham to imbue the narrative with religious significance. The message presented here is that humans must accept their fate and be prepared to sacrifice themselves, and that they can experience purification and salvation by enduring suffering.
However, this raises an important question. Can the reality of secular life in a metropolis truly be reconciled with the attribution of religious meaning? How can Franz Bieberkopf, a criminal from Berlin’s lower classes, be presented as a new moral and religious role model?
When Mita dies, Franz despairs of life and loses all reason to continue living. Meanwhile, Reinhold appears as a figure shrouded in mystery even amidst the realistic depictions throughout the work. In the scene where he murders Mitzke, he is likened to “death,” and, given his various criminal acts and pathological traits, he is also portrayed as a demonic figure. His sallow complexion and his habit of shuffling his feet when he walks also resemble descriptions typically used to depict demonic beings. He is a stammerer, a master of intrigue, and a man tormented by lust and a thirst for revenge.
Then, from the middle of Volume 8 through Volume 9, the novel’s realistic world shifts its focus to Franz Bieberkopf’s inner crisis and transformation. The Buch Mental Hospital—where Döblin himself once worked as a doctor—becomes the setting for this ordeal.
Upon hearing the news of the murder of the young woman, Franz suffers a profound emotional shock; after being arrested by the police, he experiences a mental breakdown and is transferred to the Buch Psychiatric Hospital. There, while in a comatose state, Franz undergoes an inner transformation. A violent storm strikes, shaking the hospital building as if to awaken his rigid soul and open his eyes. Death makes him realize his mistakes by causing the people who were important in his life to pass before his eyes once more.
Then, the Great Harlot of Babylon and Death struggle to claim Franz’s soul. The Great Harlot of Babylon can be seen as a symbol of an evil metropolis embodying a seductive reality, as well as decay and destructive power. In the battle over Franz’s soul, Death emerges victorious. Through this ordeal, the old Franz Bieberkopf—the old Adam—dies, and a new Bieberkopf, a new Adam, is born from his pathological delusions. This “new man,” who is not clinging solely to selfish self-preservation but is prepared to cast himself aside, evokes an Expressionist vision of human resurrection.
However, by the end of the novel, the meaning of this resurrection is not easily accepted. Although the narrator adopts the posture of a completely transformed “new man,” the Franz Bieberkopf who emerges from the Buch Mental Hospital seems far removed from the personality or mental disposition of a figure resurrected through a passion play. Rather, he gives the impression of a mechanical puppet. Having been stripped of all the wildness, aggression, and vitality inherent in life, this character—now working as an assistant guard—is, of course, no longer a criminal. Yet it is difficult to discern in him the grand and complete transformation of death and rebirth.
Consequently, I have come to view this ending as a pitiful self-portrait of a human being who has suffered in a modern metropolis. The world to which Franz Bieberkopf has returned also remains unchanged. This novel presents the myriad elements that make up the world, but it seems to illustrate that, in the absence of a faith or a binding worldview capable of interpreting those elements and assigning meaning to them, it is difficult to imbue the protagonist’s new life with any distinct significance.
The Anxiety Left by the “Community” Ending
The novel ends with a vision of Bieberkopf marching in formation with a group of others and a song of collective battle. Here, the community or group emerges as the entity that gives meaning to the individual’s life. Does this ending, then, imply that individual alienation can be overcome through a new sense of community based on political solidarity?
Perhaps Doblin simply sought to present a unique ending to this novel and to give some direction to the protagonist’s unstable life, which had been marked by failure. However, in 1933—four years after the novel’s publication—when the Nazis came to power, this image of the community became linked to a nightmarish reality. This is because the idea that the individual is powerless and that the community—that is, the nation—is everything offers a glimpse into the potential of fascism.
In fact, Döblin, who was of Jewish descent, was forced into exile after the Nazis seized power, fleeing via Switzerland to Paris. He witnessed historical events in which the vision of community he had portrayed in his novel was realized in reality in a form entirely different from his original intent. When one considers this fact, it becomes difficult to view the novel’s final march scene as merely a hopeful conclusion. This is because it evokes not only the hope for a new community that transcends individual alienation but also the dangers that can arise when the community overwhelms the individual.
“Alexanderplatz” has long been established as a classic of world literature, but it is by no means an easy novel to read. Not only is it voluminous, but it also employs a variety of narrative techniques, Berlin dialect, and colloquial language; as a result, readers accustomed to traditional novels may find it unfamiliar and challenging. However, considering that this very strangeness is closely linked to the reality of the metropolis depicted in the work, one comes to realize that even its challenging form is an integral part of the novel.
Ultimately, what leaves the strongest impression in this novel is the portrait of the city itself, which transcends the story of a single individual. Franz Bieberkopf tries to rebuild his life after being released from prison, but he is constantly brought down by the city’s chaos, crime, poverty, and betrayal. Although the story suggests that he is reborn as a “new man” through Mithy’s death and his own mental breakdown, the world he returns to has not changed in the slightest. Thus, his rebirth feels less like complete salvation and more like the image of a man who has barely survived the tribulations of the metropolis.
At the same time, this work shows how the lives of people living in a metropolis are composed of the accidental combination of seemingly unrelated events. An individual’s fate is easily lost in the vast currents of the city, while poverty, unemployment, crime, alcohol, betrayal, and violence repeat themselves as if they were part of everyday life. Nevertheless, people carry on without losing their wit, mobilizing the survival strategies they possess. It is precisely for this reason that I felt this novel goes beyond the tragedy of a single criminal to portray the collective reality of all people living in a modern metropolis.
The scene where Franz Bieberkopp joins the community’s procession at the end is therefore difficult to interpret. While it seems to suggest the possibility of overcoming individual alienation, it also harbors the dangerous possibility that the community might overwhelm the individual. Furthermore, the fact that fascism emerged in real history shortly after the novel’s publication adds an even more unsettling layer of meaning to that scene.
Ultimately, ‘Berlin Alexanderplatz’ feels like a work that presents metropolitan life as it is while persistently questioning what meaning can be ascribed to that existence. In a city where construction and collapse, order and chaos, life and death constantly intersect, people struggle desperately to survive. However, merely passing through that suffering does not necessarily mean one is reborn as a complete human being. Rather, if the world to which the transformed individual returns remains unchanged, the meaning of that rebirth is left as a question for the reader once again. In this respect, Franz Weberkopf’s ordeal is not merely the story of a single individual; it comes across as the very ordeal experienced by people living in modern metropolises.
