What began as an aimless walk through Frankfurt’s historic Altstadt last March accidentally turned into one of my favorite parts of my trip to Germany.
My partner Aidan and I stumbled upon the Struwwelpeter Museum, which is an institution dedicated to one of Germany’s most iconic and peculiar children’s books.
I had never heard of the book, but Aidan had, so he gave me a brief background and warning about the book before we walked in.
“Struwwelpeter,” written in 1845 by psychiatrist Heinrich Hoffmann, is a collection of moral tales known for its unsettling illustrations and graphic punishments.
Unlike the children’s stories I grew up with, these were a bit more grotesque. Examples include a boy who refuses to eat and starves into nothingness and the story of a boy who won’t stop fidgeting and accidentally sets himself ablaze.
The most iconic figure, “Shock-Headed Peter” (Struwwelpeter in German), opens the museum. He isn’t punished for a bad deed — he himself is the living warning. With his hair shooting out in every direction and fingernails curling like claws, he represents pure neglect and chaos.
Hoffmann doesn’t harm Peter; he simply shows him. This is a story highlighting a child who is so untouched by grooming or guidance that he becomes a walking spectacle.
My favorite was about a boy named Conrad, titled “The Story of the Thumbsucker.” He ignores his mother’s warning and is met by a scissors-wielding tailor who promptly snips his thumbs off.
It was this strange duality, a playful children’s book paired with horror, that made the museum all the more lovable to me.
Inside, the museum unfolds across several floors and rooms. We had an audio guide we downloaded onto our phones to help walk us through.
Original illustrations, early editions of the book and biographical materials about Hoffmann trace how what started as a gift for his son became one of Germany’s most enduring cultural exports.
As we continued, we encountered reinterpretations and parodies that emerged over the years, including Petroleum Peter. One unexpected parody replaced children with lions. Another from the 20th century turned the narratives into a dark social critique.
The trip took an unexpectedly whimsical turn when we found a stage. Since there was no one else visiting the museum when we were there, I felt brave enough to step on the stage and read a story from a book the museum had provided to my whole audience of Aidan.
They had a rack of clothes and props where you could dress up as the characters. It is safe to say that I indulged and asked Aidan to do the same.
Despite its modest size, the Struwwelpeter Museum offers a rare glimpse into how children’s literature can shape a nation’s cultural memory.
It was a strange and fascinating place, getting to walk in knowing only the brief overview and getting to leave feeling like I had touched a piece of German childhood that most people outside of the country don’t even realize exists.
We walked back into the Altstadt and wandered around for the rest of the day with the topics from the museum coming up in conversation again and again.
Stephenson can be reached at [email protected].
