What makes All for Nothing a terrific and unusual novel

Past the half-way point I continue to be impressed by and drawn to Walter Kempowki's 2006 novel, All for Nothing. For those readers who may be daunted by a novel in translation (from German) about a, for Americans, an unfamiliar setting - life in a small estate near the front lines in 1945 in what was soon to become East German - published by the esoteric NYRB press, I can only say that this book is perhaps surprisingly accessible. Kempowski builds the narrative in a series of very short takes - most just a paragraph or two - in chapters arranged by in time sequence (novel coves, so far, just a few days) and by topic (e.g., some chapters have the name of a character, some have titles like a short story or a film outtake, such as The Stranger or The Offense). Most important, he clearly delineates the characters and makes the setting vivid through careful selection of detail and avoidance of jargon and literary flourish. In that sense, the novel is almost minimal, but the themes are powerful and the narrative stance unusual. In essence, throughout the novel we are much more knowledgeable and aware than any of the characters; we see these members of the von Globig family - a mother, an elderly Auntie, and a 12-year-old son, living with three servants - as the world unfurls around them and they, holding onto what possessions and privileges they can, are unaware of the impending peril. They seem have no sense of the horrors of the Nazi regime - they display a few portraits of Hitler around the house because that's what's expected - and they are just starting to sense that they are unprotected, that as the Russian troops advance (they can hear the explosions from the front, maybe 50 miles away) they will be attacked. They start to pack up to prepare to leave in a rush if needed, but they seem immobilized and naive. Pressed by a priest in the nearby village, the mother - Katherina - a great beauty who shows little feeling or empathy for anyone but herself - agrees to let a fugitive hide out for a night in her house; she seems thrilled by this adventure, but it's more like a game to her. She thinks little about the sufferings of others, and can't imagine trying to protect her family - which would mean giving up all of their belongings and comforts. It's hard to imagine how we as contemporary readers could sympathize w/ this pathetic, opportunistic family, but Kemposki brings us right into their lives, their troubles, and their conflicts.