188 Seiten und eine Raucherlunge später habe ich diesen Roman voller Situation Geschichten beendet. Judith Hermann Schreibstiel war hier - nach meinen empfinden- sehr melancholisch. So als schaue man zurück und wünscht sich etwas Verändern zu können und man sich trotzdem sagt das es besser so ist. Es war mal interessant seine Nase in eine andere Art von Lektüre zu stecken. ( )

Judith Hermann’s debut volume of short fiction—deftly translated from the German original by Margot Bettauer Dembo—paints a fascinating if sometimes perplexing portrait of a youthful generation, rootless inhabitants of a society that dangles possibilities but doesn’t give its citizens a solid foundation on which to build a life, or any reason to aspire for success or significance. Many of Hermann’s characters behave in what seems a deliberately purposeless fashion, distracting themselves from a pervasive lack of meaning by drifting through a series of empty activities and entertainments. They live for the moment, with little regard for what the future might hold. In the volume’s opening tale, “The Red Coral Bracelet,” the young female narrator recalls her great-grandmother’s marriage to a man who manufactures furnaces. He takes his young wife to Russia, where the need is great, and there, the narrator’s great-grandfather is compelled to abandon his wife because of the huge demand for his product. He travels all over the country, for years at a time, and while he’s away she takes a series of lovers, all of whom shower her with gifts, one of which is the red coral bracelet. Years later, the narrator is wearing her great-grandmother’s bracelet in her therapist’s office when the string breaks and the beads scatter all over the floor, freeing her from the shackles of a troubling personal history. In “Hurricane (Something Farewell),” Nora and Christine are visiting a friend who lives on a tropical island. Without any goals and untethered by emotional connections, they spend their time drinking, getting high, and engaging in meaningless dalliances. News comes that a hurricane is approaching, but there is little sense of urgency. In the end, Christine goes home to resume her life, and Nora stays behind. And in “Sonja,” an artist finds himself inexplicably haunted by an enigmatic young woman he meets on a train. The young woman, Sonja, has an odd appearance—“her face was as unusual and as old-fashioned as one of those Madonna paintings from the fifteenth century”—and lives in an apartment by herself with no visible means of support. The attraction is not sexual, but in her presence his inhibitions melt away and he talks about himself and his life in more detail than with anyone else, including his girlfriend Verena. In the end the lines of communication break down and Sonja vanishes from his life, without reason or explanation, leaving behind no traces of her existence. Hermann’s collection presents a succession of lives in stasis, people whose objectives are half-formed, whose motivations are obscure and unarticulated. One could complain that Hermann’s characters lack depth, that their struggles are empty. This may be true, but the book remains captivating nonetheless because of the atmospheric details that she drops into her expressive prose, and the level of invention that drives the action. Her plots are mostly hazy and dreamlike; they evade description and resist quick summary. Not for all tastes, but in these fictions, Judith Hermann provides a glimpse into a shadowy and slightly off-kilter version of reality that is memorable and poignant. ( )

Da dieses Buch eines der ersten von mir auf Dt gelesenen Bücher war, besteht ein grosser Teil meiner Sternchen-Sympathie aus dem Beflügelungsgefühl beim Lesen in einer fremden Sprache. Das später erschienene zweite Buch der Autorin habe ich nicht vor zu lesen, da mir die Texte, die ich in einer Lesung gehört habe, ziemlich wässrig vorkamen. ( )

Jeg var meget begejstret for Alice, Judith Hermanns tredje novellesamling fra 2009, og jeg har lige siden haft planer om at læse noget mere af hende. Sommerhaus, später er hendes debut fra 1998 og det er en stærk en af slagsen, selvom jeg ikke synes, at den er helt på niveau med hendes senere arbejde.

De ni fortællinger er præget af ungdommens misantropi – ideen om, at tingene er mere sande, jo mere dystre de er, er tilsyneladende udbredt hos unge forfattere – og for personerne er lykken aldrig rigtigt til stede. Uanset om de prøver at leve gennem deres oldemors oplevelser i zar-tidens Rusland som fortælleren i Rote Korallen, eller om de driver om fra fest til fest og fra seng til seng i nutidens berliner-jetset som i Bali-Frau, så er oplevelserne aldrig helt ægte.

Livet leves (måske) et sted, men ikke af Hermanns personer. Selvom de er sammen med andre, så er de i virkeligheden mest optaget af sig selv. Pigen fra Rote Korallen prøver at presse mere saft ud af familiehistorierne ved at være sammen med en efterkommer af en af oldemoderens bekendte. Det kommer der ikke noget ud af, for han ligger dagen lang i sin lejlighed og siger igen og igen: ”Ich interessiere mich nicht für mich selbst.” (Jeg interesserer mig ikke for mig selv.)

Det er selvsagt et mageløst selvoptaget udsagn, men på den anden side er det rigtigt nok i den forstand, at han ikke rigtig gør noget ved det.

I titelnovellen finder den hjemløse taxachauffør Stein endelig det perfekte sommerhus, og han inviterer fortælleren med ud at se det. Hun har mødt ham nogle år tidligere og er blevet hans indgang til hendes kreds af unge kunstnerspirer. Nu vil han indrette det til dem og give noget tilbage, men da hun ser den gamle ruin bliver hun frastødt og kan slet ikke forholde sig til hans gestus.

Alligevel er der glimt af håb, f.eks. i novellen om det gamle syrehoved Hunter Thompson, der bor på et trøstesløst hotel i New York. Det er dybest set et sted, hvor folk flytter ind og forsumper, indtil de dør, men da han møder en ung pige i lejligheden over for, tænder det alligevel et lys i ham. Hun interesserer sig for hans musik, og inden længe er han på jagt efter en båndoptager til hende.

Uanset hvor svært personerne har det med menneskelig kontakt, så ligger det hele tiden som et desperat ønske lige under overfladen. Det afdækker Hermann i sine flotte fortællinger, som jeg stadig glæder mig til at læse endnu flere af. ( )

I read this book in German and English only to find the German esoteric language value lost when I read the English version. Perhaps intention and meaning suffered in translation but it's probably more along the lines of losing the need to understand every word when everything was simply written in English. Nevertheless, the English version is quite good. I think the art and literature coming out of Berlin at the moment is notable. ( )