I read The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann.With one hand, the magical Mann misdirects the reader's eyes with diatribe from an eclectic group of characters and with the other hand he performs the trick: weaving fairy tale, art, theater and the number seven into his tale of the everyman.
Hans Castorp visits a sanatorium high in the mountains. His cousin introduces him to strangers who disdain the flatlands and sleep to treat their illnesses. Hans intends to visit only three weeks but his stay stretches to years.
Patients are encouraged to pursue hobbies beyond high brow discussion of philosophy. Photography becomes a fad until management bans it because of an accidental fire. Card games become popular around the time that Castorp's doctor concocts a new treatment for his pseudo illness: a vaccine derived from Castorp's own blood. Admittedly, this serum will have no negative or positive effect.
Castorp's cousin petitions his physician for dismissal and returns to the flatlands but Hans has drunk the Kool-Aid and decides to stay.
A newcomer named Peeperkorn stirs excitement at the commune. He excessively parties, incites debates on religion, thrills the ladies and commits suicide. He drew crowds at dinners but his passing is barely noted.
Castorp's cousin returns to the sanatorium and resigns himself to the treatment he receives but he has lost faith in its effectiveness. He goes through the motions of the rest cures but soon dies. At a sitting with a medium, Hans contacts his dead cousin on the other side. Hans is troubled by the encounter and after a disagreement between friends leads to a pistol duel with the most unexpected finish in the history of literature, the narrative glosses over five to six years of Castorp's stay in a hand full of pages and he is last depicted charging across the battlefield of World War I.
