Eine junge Frau erinnert sich an ihre wohlbeh tete Kindheit in einem s damerikanischen Land und kommt einem dunklen Geheimnis auf die Spur Die Eltern, die sich so f rsorglich um sie gek mmert haben, sind nicht ihre leiblichen Eltern Sie sind Teil eines terroristischen Regimes, das auch ihre Eltern umgebracht hat Von der Autorin des Erfolges Geschichte vom alten Kind....
|Publisher||:||btb Verlag 2 Januar 2007|
|Number of Pages||:||112 Seiten|
|File Size||:||886 KB|
|Status||:||Available For Download|
|Last checked||:||21 Minutes ago!|
Mit scheinbar naiven Kinderfragen entwirft Jenny Erpenbeck ein fast philosophisches und zumTeil fast surrealistisches Bild auf den Alltag in der DDR.
Schon "Die Geschichte vom alten Kind" und "Tand" fand ich wunderbar. Jenny Erpenbeck ist eine der wenigen zeitgenössischen AutorInnen, die wirklich mit der Sprache arbeiten. Sie kommt immer wieder zu überraschenden Bildern und ist dabei nie kitschig oder überladen, sondern poetisch, spröde und sehr eigen. Einen Stern Abzug gebe ich, weil ich es nicht wirklich gelungen fand, wenn immer wieder Sätze wiederholt und abgebrochen werden. Ob das an die Agrammtik eines inneren Monologs anknpüfen soll: keine Ahnung. Auch hat mich irritiert, dass ich nie wusste, von welchem Land eigentlich die Rede ist. Irgendeine Diktatur in heißem Klima? Aber wie passt dann das christliche dazu? Mindestens zehn Sterne hätte sie dagegen für die wundervolle Passage auf S. 91 (Hardcover) verdient, in der sie die Straßengeräusche, die ins Haus schwappen mit einem Strom voller Fischlaiber vergleicht. Auch gut gefallen haben mir die Besuche der Geister, der Verschwundenen und Verschollenen und die vielen Ausreden, die sich die Kinder für das Verschwinden der Menschen ausdenken. Insgesamt ein typisches Erpenbeck-Buch, im Entwurf kleiner als die "Geschichte vom alten Kind", aber immer noch ein Lesegenuß. Achja: Diese Autorin mit Vertreterinnen des "Fräuleinwunders" gleichzusetzen ist asbolut lächerlich. Hier ist eine, die kann schreiben und die hat etwas zu sagen. Das ist der Unterschied.
Schade darum! Der Stoff, mit dem sich die Schriftstellerin Jenny Erpenbeck beschäftigt, ist wahrlich packend, allerdings überzeugt die Umsetzung nicht. Die Sprache ist klischeehaft, die Figuren erscheinen wie auf dem Reißbrett gezeichnet. Ich hätte mir gewünscht, daß sie sich mehr in sie hineinfühlt.
Jenny Erpenbeck ist eine Vertreterin der neudeutschen Weibchenliteratur, des wortreichen Geklingels um vermeintliche Konflikte und Figuren, die im wahren Leben nie vorkommen würden. Dieses Buch ist ebenso überflüssig wie die davor.
The English version of this German novel by Jenny Erpenbeck has been translated by Susan Bernofsky. I have not read the translation. It is sold as The Book of Words.In the beginning was the Word. The heroine is lost in words and she can not find her way. We are in a literary puzzle. A young woman recollects her childhood. Her language is precise German with a distinct East German touch. We are in the head of the child. The child sees and hears things and tries to make sense of them.Her upbringing is partly in German. We know that from the verbal `memes' (the term that Dawkins uses for cultural equivalents of genes) that the child finds or remembers or encounters: the rhymes, the songs, the prayers.Many of these memes are the same that I grew up with, though I am 20 years older than the author Erpenbeck, and though I grew up near the Western borders of Germany, in the French occupied zone, not like she did in the formerly Russian zone, now (during her childhood) officially the German Democratic Republic, and in the present time an odd subject of contradictory memories and myths.The places that the child lives in are of a mongrel kind. We seem to be in East Germany and then we seem to be in Argentina. Only her grandmother remembers snow. That must be her mother's mother. She came over the ocean, from far away. Mother has a brother and a sister, but her father has died. Snow covered the ground for months over there. The sun nearly always shines here.The child's father did not come from Germany, his parents live in Argentina and are visited every year by train or car. Is the German background a deliberate obfuscation? Is Erpenbeck deliberately confusing these countries? Or is it not confusion, but fusion? Are we in a practical application of totalitarianism theory? We are certainly not in a realistic narration that we can take literally.The girl's father, as we find out, has an important position and is friends with the men whose stone monuments stand in the parks. He is in charge of creating order. He is, in other words, torturer and murderer on a grand scale.The child has a wetnurse (she drinks her milk until rather late), who takes the child to popular altars for a local saint, Difunta Correa. This is what wikipedia knows about Difunta:According to popular legend, Deolinda Correa was a woman whose husband was forcibly recruited around the year 1840, during the Argentine civil wars. Becoming sick, he was then abandoned by the Montoneras [partisans]. In an attempt to reach her sick husband, Deolinda took her baby child and followed the tracks of the Montoneras through the desert. When her supplies ran out, she died. Her body was found days later by gauchos that were driving cattle through, and to their astonishment found the baby still alive, feeding from the deceased woman's "miraculously" ever-full breast. (end of quote from wiki)Another hint at biological distance is that the girl's mother has blue eyes, while her own are black. We assume early on that the girl is adopted. She is very attached to her father. In the course of the story we learn fairly precisely what has happened, and she understands quite clearly what her father has done. She waits for him to be released from jail.This short book is a fascinating text by a promising writer. I have been made aware of her by several reviews written by friends, and I have tried not to remember their opinions when writing this review. The narration is composed of short text pieces which require close attention. After all, we have to decypher different time levels from early childhood to young adulthood, and we need to sort out different places. People are either people or ghosts. Gun shots are fireworks or bursting tires or somebody killing rats or pigeons or stray dogs. Corpses are either buried under lawns or dumped into the ocean from airplanes.
... wonders the child, "Das, Gehirnwindung für Gehirnwindung, zunichte denken, bis vielleicht ganz am Grund ein Löffelchen voll von mir durchscheint." For the young girl everything appears as if turned on its head, into its opposite. She senses that many words contain one half silence that weighs their feet down like lead. "Für mich," she recalls, "standen die Worte fest, aber jetzt lass ich sie los, und wenn es nicht anders geht, schneide den einen oder anderen Fuss lieber mit ab." With such poignant opening sentences Jenny Erpenbeck draws us immediately and deeply into a world that is both real and surreal. These musings don't quite sound like the voice of a child and from the outset we wonder about this voice: on the one hand full of the naive wonderment only a child can express, on the other an underlying inquiring mind that suggests an older person looking back. In a language that is both very poetic and at the surface undemanding, i.e. the language of a child, her story evolves into a profound, intricately structured and deeply affecting fictional memoir that reads at times like a fable, but then again also as a realistic account of a girl's coming of age in extraordinary circumstances.While the events surrounding the girl's sheltered life suggest a concrete time and place, even without naming the country, the author is at pains to illustrate conditions and responses that many a young person may have to confront in a country under totalitarian rule. A rule in which, at least for a while, the young may be protected from the realities outside their pleasant cage by "high walls" and where gunshots are being interpreted as "blowing tires". Her friend Anna presents her with the most outlandish explanations for everything unusual that occurs, some funny, some macabre, but delivered with deadpan expression. The girl wonders, however, and tries to bring the different experiences into some reality she can understand. Her father, who adores her and spends evenings playing with her, usually avoids a direct comment to such explanations that she passes on to him. She is too young to worry her pretty head about it.As she grows, more strictures affect her directly: in school, where she tried to look like everybody else, within the larger family, after she overhears conversations in which she is labelled as "there is something inherently spoiled about her". Most irritating are the confines her mother, the woman with eyes "the colour of water", imposes on her without explanations or motherly warmth to offset the increasing distance between mother and child. The girl has many questions about what she observes and the people around her and those who suddenly disappear from her immediate environment. But while she shares her questions and reflections with us, the readers, she remains reluctant to confront those around her. Eventually, as can be expected, the house of cards that had been build around her collapses...It is not easy to convey the beauty of Erpenbeck's writing, despite its sombre topic, without revealing too much of the detailed content of the novel. In a short ninety pages, she creates a rich and emotionally charged universe that reaches far beyond the individual's story. Erpenbeck, who herself grew up under the confines and strictures of the East German state, brings her experiences to bear, although more in suggested parallels and hints than openly. Most evident is the frequent use of lines from German folksongs, ditties, or children rhymes. In the context of this novel, the often crude violence in such ancient sayings, which, as children, we would have repeated without understanding the content, underscores her concern about language and the many meanings of words. Susan Bernofsky, Erpenbeck's translator, adds some context to these and other aspects of the novel.Having read "Wörterbuch" () now in German as well as in its excellent and sensitive translation by Susan Bernofsky, and following her brilliant, more recent novel, , I can only continue to admire Erpenbeck's extraordinary ability to mould language and imagery to her very personal needs and vision and develop it into a unique style. In her home country she is widely regarded as the most poetic and innovative writer of the younger German writer generation. While her language and style in English may not the easiest to connect to initially, her German reflects exquisitely the duality of language that illustrates on the one hand the young girl's world and on the other constantly hints at deeper questions and meanings. A language that the author will have learned in her own childhood, where many things were upside down and each sentence carried is silent meanings with it. The original text also plays on the reader's own childhood memories when she smoothly integrates childhood songs and traditional sayings with the realities of the child's environment. [Friederike Knabe]