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Wojnicz is the protagonist of The Empusium. His arrival in the small town and his enrollment in the sanatorium is the impetus for the narrative, while the mystery surrounding his identity is one of the novel’s key intrigues. Wojnicz is a dislocated figure, feeling alienated and alone. He is an intersex person, meaning that a society that divides the world into two genders cannot accommodate him. With this, the gendered languages he speaks (German and Polish) lack the nuance to express any true sense of Wojnicz’s self. In a world where even Dr. Semperweiss’s flashy Mercedes has a gender attributed to it by the language, Wojnicz feels as though there is no place for him. In a linguistic and mental sense, he is as disembodied and as ephemeral as the steam on the station platform, as the mist that separates the town from the forest.
Wojnicz’s lifelong quest for acceptance has turned him into a locus point for competing versions of gender identity. For his entire life, people have lectured him on how to be a man, even though he feels that their versions of masculinity do not apply to him. Since his mother died when he was young, Wojnicz was raised by his chauvinistic father. Wojnicz has presented as male, but his father tried to ignore his intersexuality and mold Wojnicz into a stereotypical and violent version of masculinity. When this failed, however, Wojnicz was taken on a tour of Europe’s doctors. As such, Wojnicz’s intersexuality (and implied femininity) is considered an illness by the patriarchal world, turning him into a medical oddity rather than a person. Their medical language, like other languages, failed to find a place for Wojnicz. Between the doctors and his father, Wojnicz’s alienation became increasingly pronounced until he was sent to the sanatorium, another instance of pathologizing his gender identity.
Wojnicz eventually comes to terms with his identity through the gradual exploration of the empty spaces left behind by women, particularly in Frau Opitz’s abandoned room. Fittingly for a person who watches men argue every night, this quest for identity is structured like a philosophical argument. Wojnicz begins with a thesis: the male identity projected on him by others. He encounters an antithesis: the traces of femininity in Frau Opitz’s empty room. He reaches a synthesis of these competing identities after he is spared from being sacrificed. Immune to the frenzy that has turned the men out into the streets, he dresses in Frau Opitz’s clothes and adopts the identity of Klara. The protagonist’s moment of catharsis comes when he takes agency over the reconciliation of his competing identities, embracing his femininity and true self and leaving the door open for a more fluid concept of gender identity.
By the time Wojnicz reaches Görbersdorf, Thilo is already close to death. In a town that is now dedicated to the treatment of tuberculosis, Thilo shows the painful end that so many people are trying to avoid. His slow death is a cautionary reminder to the audience that the sanatorium may present itself as a health resort, but it is very much a treatment facility for a deadly disease. Wojnicz observes Thilo’s final decline up close. Gradually, Thilo is stripped of everything that once defined him. As he becomes weaker physically, his connections to the definitive aspects of his identity weaken.
On a personal level, Wojnicz observes the way in which tuberculosis seems to denude Thilo of his gender. Laying in his dying bed, Thilo does not conform to the gender expectations that dominate society, particularly in the heightened misogynistic environment of the sanitorium. In this moment, Wojnicz relates to him more than ever. He glimpses the raw, pained humanity that lurks beneath the carefully constructed edifice of a healthy human persona. Thilo is too weak to pretend any longer, highlighting the constructed nature of sexuality in general rather than the ideas of inherent strength and weakness espoused by his fellow patients. This endears him to a protagonist who is defined by his rejection of any kind of fixed identity.
Thilo becomes the first person in the novel for whom Wojnicz feels genuine sympathy and a connection rather than nostalgic longing or pity. Wojnicz is on friendly terms with the other guests in Opitz’s guesthouse, but it is only Thilo whom he happily visits. In doing so, he discovers a whole new way to see the world. Thilo is obsessed with landscape paintings. Notably, he favors art that does not center the human experience. Rather, humans are decorative additions to the dramatic landscapes that can be glimpsed as easily through the window as through Thilo’s collection of paintings.
Moreover, the deconstructive way in which Thilo encourages Wojnicz to examine paintings helps Wojnicz to see the world in a new light. Wojnicz may never truly master this skill, nor does he share his friend’s deep passion for landscape art, but the revelation that new perspectives can be found is striking for Wojnicz. He has felt alienated and alone for so long that, with the help of his dying friend, he begins to hope that there might be a different world out there for him, so long as he is able to find a new perspective.
At the same time, however, Wojnicz must suffer from the inherent unknowability of the human character. During Thilo’s final days, he and Wojnicz develop an intense and meaningful relationship. Yet there is so much about Thilo that Wojnicz cannot know. Thilo’s sexuality, for example, is hinted at in numerous conversations, but only the arrival of Thilo’s lover György can remind Wojnicz that—unlike Wojnicz—Thilo has developed meaningful relationships that exist beyond the confines of Opitz’s guesthouse. Much like Wojnicz’s intersexuality, Thilo’s sexual relationships with men have caused him to be alienated and discriminated against by conventional society. Unlike Wojnicz, however, Thilo found someone to share in his alienation. György is, in effect, to Thilo what Thilo is to Wojnicz: the first suggestion of acceptance in a hostile world. The result is that Wojnicz feels a pang of jealousy that he cannot quite vocalize. After Thilo’s death, György asks Wojnicz whether he knows the whereabouts of Thilo’s favorite painting. Wojnicz lies, denying any knowledge of where the painting might be. He wishes to keep hold of the painting, clinging on to some part of Thilo that is personal, private, and just for him.
Wilhelm Opitz runs a small guesthouse in Görbersdorf. He caters to the people not wealthy enough to gain immediate access to the Kurhaus. This guesthouse has been a successful business venture for him, but this success has not carried over to his personal life. At the beginning of the novel, Opitz is already married to his fourth wife. The previous wives left him in acrimonious circumstances; his fourth wife is discovered dead early in the novel.
The mysterious death of Frau Opitz is an immediate indication that there is darkness lurking in the town of Görbersdorf. Opitz’s muted reaction to her sudden death, however, is a subtle illustration of his callous attitude toward women and to life in general. Opitz’s wife was a Czech national who seemed out of place in Görbersdorf. In effect, she was little more than a housekeeper for Opitz, and her death means little to him because he treats all women as interchangeable inferiors rather than whole people. Wojnicz is traumatized by the sight of Frau Opitz’s corpse, and his humane suffering contrasts with Opitz’s indifference.
Opitz is linked to Görbersdorf’s dark secret as the representative of the local people and the living embodiment of the agreement they have reached with whatever lurks in the forest. Opitz cares more about his Schwärmerei than the moral ramifications of human sacrifice. His dedication to the local liqueur represents his willful ignorance: He wants to ignore the moral ramifications of what he and his community have done. He wants to strap himself to the chair, ignore the sacrifice, and then drink Schwärmerei to plunge himself into a nostalgic, intoxicated forgetfulness. Eventually, however, the sacrifice of Wojnicz fails. Fittingly, once Wojnicz frees Opitz from his chair, the forces in the forest select Opitz to be sacrificed. He failed to adhere to the terms of the arrangement, and he is killed by the same forces he tried to appease, a final reckoning against so-called “rational” masculinity in the world of the novel.
The Empusium is largely narrated in a third-person voice. The past-tense narration initially appears comfortable and familiar; occasionally, however, the narration slips into the present tense. A collective voice also emerges, addressing the audience directly in a slippery, disembodied “we” (44). The narrator is a supernatural presence, not merely narrating Wojnicz’s story but observing it with a vested interest. In these moments, the narrator can look beyond Wojnicz’s immediate physical space into the other rooms in the guesthouse, into the surrounding town, and into the dark, mysterious forest.
The narrator is eventually confirmed as belonging to the spirits of the forest, which the locals attribute to the Tuntschi they have crafted. The narrative voice thus represents the repressed presence of the female inhabitants and the oppressed status of women in general in this deeply patriarchal society: While women in the town are rarely glimpsed and are usually silent, marginalized figures whenever Wojnicz does see them, the Tuntschi/narrative voice emerges as an important counterpoint. The narrative voice/Tuntschi actively resist this erasure, enacting annual vengeance against the oppression of the town’s female inhabitants and ultimately taking control of the narrative.
As explained in the Epilogue, the annual sacrifice during Wojnicz’s visit was the last. The outbreak of World War I the following year, the narrative voice states, “satisfied our cravings” (301). The narrative voice thus suggests that the irrational, large-scale bloodletting during the world war ended up killing millions of men, leaving the narrative voice/Tuntschi with no further need of a male sacrifice. The narrative voice’s parting reassurance, “we are always here” (302), reaffirms the presence of the repressed feminine element in the town, ending the novel on a note of defiance and endurance against patriarchal society.
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