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Dear Hella, Running just beneath the nostalgic waters of The Black Lake (tr. Ina Rilke, 2012. Original: Oeroeg, 1948), there is a disturbing current of tainted innocence: at…… Read more “The alphabet of my childhood”
Tag: Literature and War
One’s prime is elusive
Dear Muriel, In The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1961), there is something in the eponymous protagonist that repels us, but there is also something that strongly…… Read more “One’s prime is elusive”
We took everything upon ourselves
Dear Sophie, What I found most interesting in the book The White Rose (1952) were the leaflets you produced and distributed, together with your brother and a group…… Read more “We took everything upon ourselves”
She regarded life as an expedition into the unknown,
Dear Erika, I was not planning to read yet another book about you, nor anything related to the Mann family, but Gunna Wendt’s Erika und Therese: Erika…… Read more “She regarded life as an expedition into the unknown,”
The milk of incomprehension
Dear Nora, Soviet Milk, tr. Margita Gailitis (2018. Original: Mātes piens, 2015) was this odd thing: a butterfly that, going in reverse, moults back into a chrysalis. What…… Read more “The milk of incomprehension”
A strange carousel from which there was no getting off
Dear Daniela, In your novel A Kingdom of Souls translated by Véronique Firkusny and Elena Sokol (2015. Original: Podobojí, 1991), we have magical realism with an edge:…… Read more “A strange carousel from which there was no getting off”
Hope is a wound
Dear Marianne, The Weight of Things (2015), translated by Adrian Nathan West (Die Schwerkraft der Verhältnisse, 1978) is this odd thing: something in-between a horror story, a…… Read more “Hope is a wound”
Look at the colour of it
Dear Ali, It takes us only a few paragraphs of Autumn (2016) to recognize your characteristic marks: experimental writing; a collage of literary references; a narrative propelled…… Read more “Look at the colour of it”
Trespassing on one’s own ground
Dear Monica, The atmosphere in your novel Mariana (1940) feels like a bright surface tinted by an added layer of nostalgia, and a pervading sense of loss.…… Read more “Trespassing on one’s own ground”
If you know about yourself, presumably you know about at least one other person
Dear Mary, Your novel The Charioteer (1953) is crossed over by what it seems to be a tense string, a rein held so tightly by opposing forces…… Read more “If you know about yourself, presumably you know about at least one other person”
Who do you think you are, Cluny Brown?
Dear Margery, Cluny Brown (1944) is a combination of comedy of manners and coming of age novel, set in England in 1938, and centred around a woman…… Read more “Who do you think you are, Cluny Brown?”
Everyone was fleeing and everything was temporary
Dear Anna, Do you know this feeling we have when something terrible happens in a dream and we must scream or run, but we find ourselves suddenly…… Read more “Everyone was fleeing and everything was temporary”
They didn’t dare before; now they do, that’s all
Dear Anna, I was halfway through Manja (tr. Kate Phillips, 2003. Manja: Ein Roman um 5 Kinder, 1938) this past week, when your book acquired a new…… Read more “They didn’t dare before; now they do, that’s all”
The walls of her home were falling down, there was no refuge
Dear Elisabeth, Your novel The Blank Wall (1947) is a gripping psychological thriller, in which a housewife get entangled in a web of murder, blackmail and pressing…… Read more “The walls of her home were falling down, there was no refuge”
Pain never belonged to just one of us
Dear Affinity, As the title of your novel suggests, Mischling (2016) is an hybrid: revenge and forgiveness; horror and wonder; hope and despair – these opposites mingle…… Read more “Pain never belonged to just one of us”
and the jungle passed in on them, seeking to cover them up
Dear Rose, Your novel The World My Wilderness (1950) is a powerful depiction of the way the Second World War ravaged people’s physical, emotional and moral landscapes. Wandering from…… Read more “and the jungle passed in on them, seeking to cover them up”
Love was so vulnerable
Dear Mary, In the midst of a very busy week for me, it was a delight to come home after a hectic day and be able to…… Read more “Love was so vulnerable”
Everyone was shut in upon themselves
Dear Norah, I just came back from a trip by bike, during which There Were No Windows (1944) was my loyal reading companion. While Spring bloomed all…… Read more “Everyone was shut in upon themselves”
