A Guide to Berlin

A Guide to Berlin Summary | Detailed Summary

"A Guide to Berlin" is Vladimir Nabokov's short story about the importance of perspective when viewing everyday items and locations that will someday become elements of precious history and memory.

The author, who is also the narrator, tells the reader that he has visited a zoo this morning and is going to a pub to meet a friend. He shares with his friend the details of his day, including utility pipes, streetcars and other matters. The narrator begins the discussion of these matters by describing a network of black utility pipes that is being constructed close to his home. When the pipes were unloaded a few days ago, the neighborhood boys immediately converged on them and used the pipes extensively in their adventures. Now the novelty of the pipes has worn off for the boys, and the only thing holding onto the black pipes in a fresh dusting of snow, into which someone has written the name "Otto." The author is struck by the beauty of the two o's forming perfectly shaped bookends to the word in the snow.

The narrator then describes his morning trip on the streetcar and marvels at how one day this mode of transportation will vanish and become a relic in the history of travel. Even now, the author feels as if the trolley is showing signs of antiquity, and he is reminded of the horse-drawn coaches of not long ago, which are now obsolete.

The author is particularly taken by the hands of the streetcar ticket taker, and he comments on their agility in spite of their large size. Comparing the ticket taker's hands to those of a pianist, the author is fascinated as he watches the crude hands in the exchange of money one moment and steering the trolley forward the next, all the while balancing as the car jolts and lunges forward.

The thought of the streetcar going the way of the vanished horse-drawn vehicles makes the author muse about the day when someone in the twenty-first century will find a streetcar and retrieve a conductor's uniform from some museum in order to assemble a picture of life as it was in Berlin at the beginning of the twentieth century. Every minute detail of this experience, including the conductor's coin purse and the jolting movements, will be logged as part of history. The author thinks that his responsibility as a literary artist is to portray these mundane items today with the same reverence with which they will be viewed in the future.

Having taken a window seat on the streetcar, the author views the work and workers who populate the streets of Berlin during the course of a day's commerce. As he witnesses four street workers pounding iron stakes with mallets, the narrator is reminded of a carillon as the sounds of the two heavy metals collide.

The sight of a young baker dusted with flour reminds the author of an angel as the young boy flies by on a tricycle. Soon the sound of jingling bottles stacked inside a van catches the attention of the author, followed closely by a cart holding the long form of a black larch tree, its roots still balled, on its way to be planted somewhere. The postman proceeds on his rounds, oblivious to all this other commotion, and the author is particularly struck by the sight of a truck filled with skinned carcasses parked in front of a butcher shop.

The author finally reaches his destination, which he calls a "man-made Eden on earth," the city zoo, which he likens to the beginning of the Old Testament in spite of the bars holding back the exotic creatures. Since it is December in Berlin, the tropical animals are all in hiding, but the author suggests visiting the amphibians and fish, especially since they represent the creatures from whom all life sprang out of the ocean. Particularly taken with the sight of the giant tortoises being fed, the author watches the creatures eat and is struck by the "ageless, well-rubbed, dull bronze" of the shells which carry the "splendid burden of time..."

At the end of the story, the author's companion in the pub thinks that the narration of the day's events does not make a very good guide to Berlin, but the author is too distracted by his surroundings to comment. The pub's walls are lined with magazines that serve as impromptu pieces of art surrounding the little tables in the cramped room.

At one end of the room sit the proprietor, his wife and his small child, who are eating lunch. The author watches as the man and his wife leave the child unattended while they serve their customers, and the author wonders what the child views through his young eyes. Surely, the child will one day recall the sight of the billiards table and the regular patrons filling the smoke-filled room.

The author's companion does not understand what is so fascinating about the sight of all this, and the author realizes that he cannot help his friend to understand that he has had a glimpse into a person's future recollection.