Jenny Erpenbeck, Aller Tage Abend

Jenny Erpenbeck's new novel Aller Tage Abend was longlisted for the German Book Prize, upon which the judges surprised me and a good few other people by not hoisting it onto the shortlist. I'm not sure why but I do have two suspicions, one of which I'll come back to later. My other suspicion is that they've done like this year's Booker Prize judges and upped the intellectual ante by choosing mainly very, very literary titles. For which there was no great need, unlike in the UK, because the German prize now has a history of picking books that are both readable and challenging. The winner is announced on Monday, by the way, and I'm curious to see which of the six titles makes it – although I have no particular favourite other than Clemens Setz's Indigo, which I'm reading at the moment and finding a wee bit wacky.

Back to Erpenbeck, however. Aller Tage Abend is a novel about 20th-century history, following four generations of a family from a Galician village via New York, Vienna, Moscow, Siberia to East Berlin. Which has been done before, let's say. Only Erpenbeck does like to have a trick, and this time it's possible deaths of her main protagonist, from the first time as a baby and its consequences to the last time in a desolate care home, ravaged by Alzheimer's.

The novel is divided into five "books" detailing the unnamed characters' lives as influenced by a specific death in very distinct styles. The family is originally Jewish but the protagonist's mother has already been married off to a gentile, a very minor Austrian civil servant on the railways. In the first book, the girl dies at only a few months of age in the early years of the century, prompting her father to flee to America and her mother to slide down the rungs of society. In the second, she dies as a teenager after the Great War, in the third she becomes a communist writer and is arrested for Trotskyist tendencies, dying in Siberia, whereas the fourth sees her falling down the stairs in the young, still hopeful GDR. The fifth book ends with her death in reunited Berlin, old and confused, her life's work somehow ridiculed by the care home's phone call to her son: "We are all in God's hand."

Between the books, Erpenbeck places "intermezzos" playing on the theme of chance. Had her mother rubbed her tiny chest with snow, had she slipped on a frozen puddle, had the file been placed on the right-hand pile - the protagonist would have evaded death. And the separate stories too give chance a major role. Each death means an opportunity for someone else, to find out a truth for example, bitter though it may be. Yet some things are repeated in each version, historical factors beyond escape – poverty, the Holocaust – and character influences such as the protagonist's strong desire to write and her mother's strong will to survive. As we go through the novel, our picture of the family completes itself.




All these possible twists of fate might be a tiny bit gimmicky if Erpenbeck weren't such a good writer. There are some beautiful passages here (albeit interrupted too often for my taste by whimsical pondering). Yet what I especially appreciated was Erpenbeck's anger at things like pogroms, purges, and those who take advantage of them. The strongest section to my mind is the part set in Moscow. It's also the most difficult to read, flitting between a description of the protagonist awaiting her impending arrest and statements from nervous comrades, betraying others to protect their own backs. The communists who sought exile from the Nazis in the Soviet Union included a number of writers, and their story is fascinating. Erpenbeck gives us a devastating insight into those times of fear, sacrificing her protagonist to the whim of a series of bureaucrats while the character herself struggles for admittance into the very system that is about to dispose of her. 

If you've read last year's German Book Prize winner, Eugen Ruge's In Zeiten des abnehmenden Lichts, you'll remember the sections set among communist exiles in Mexico, where the situation is equally back-stabbing but less fatal, and the father's memories of a Siberian gulag. And here we come to my second suspicion about why the novel might not have made it onto the shortlist: on the face of it, there are too many similarities to Ruge's book. Sweeping family saga, East Germany, communists, the woes of the twentieth century - except that happens to be something German writers do very well, and which exports well too. 

As a whole, the book works on several levels. Fans of middlebrow novels (sorry, but you know what I mean) will enjoy the whole twists-of-fate scenario, historical fiction lovers will get into the documentary aspects and those who enjoy good writing will of course get their kicks too. You'll be pleased to hear that Portobello Books will be publishing the English translation - perhaps vindication for that shortlist setback. Is it twee and tasteless to say that as one door closes, another door opens? Very possibly.

He's Back!

I rarely look at the bestseller lists, but I did just now, and look! Amidst the crime and grime, number twelve - speaking of German comedians - is Timur Vermes' Er ist wieder da. A rare case of a book I enjoyed actually appealing to other people. It's also a comeback of sorts for publishers Eichborn, whose bluebottle has risen from the ashes of bankruptcy under new management. They've made a very good video to promote the book. Here's a quick rehash of what I wrote about the satirical novel for New Books in German - before I handed the book on to a friend, who absolutely loved it. (Apologies for formatting issues in advance!)

Hitler wakes up on an empty lot in Berlin, in the spring of 2011, with a bit of a headache. He can’t remember anything after showing Eva Braun his pistol in the bunker, so he’s pretty confused to find Berlin suddenly intact and not overrun with Russian soldiers. He wanders the streets until a newsagent takes pity on him and lets him sleep in his kiosk. Obviously, people recognize him but they all think he’s playing a role – as a comedian. And in fact a third-rate production company spots him at the kiosk and signs him up, thrilled by his unintentionally hilarious monologues and the way he never slips out of character while ad-libbing.

Hitler rises through the ranks of the German comedy scene and turns into a Youtube phenomenon. But the all-powerful BILD newspaper is suspicious – and pronounces Hitler the unwitting comedian officially out of order. Hitler himself rather admires the way the paper calls a spade a spade, but manages to trick the journalists with a spot of emotional blackmail until he finally has BILD’s full ingratiating support. 

From then on, the only way is up. Hitler takes to the streets and interviews innocent passers-by on topical subjects, whipping them up into a fury over dog poo on the pavement or speeding drivers. All of which makes for great TV. Out filming on location, he comes across the NPD’s headquarters in Köpenick. Hitler is of course horrified by the Neonazis’ lack of conviction and commitment to the cause and showers the new party leader with insults. 

   
The novel is narrated in the first person by the reawakened Adolf Hitler himself. So we get interior monologues looking back on historical incidents and characters, spontaneous speeches and a great deal of confusion over the details of modern-day life – women who collect up dog poo in small plastic bags, Turkish people running businesses, and why on earth do people want to drink dry white wine and eat so much meat? All in Hitleresque language based on close study of speeches, Mein Kampf and recorded private discussions, which was actually fun to translate - in a weird way - when I was asked to do a short sample.

I’ve certainly never read anything like it before. It really is funny – what would Hitler make of modern-day life, what innovations would he appreciate and what would he condemn? And how would people react to him? It reminded me of some of those great juvenile American comedies along the lines of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (remember that one?), in which historical figures are astounded by the present day. Only it’s Hitler, which Eichborn rightly point out is a touchy subject. Yet there's a long history of Hitler parodies, from Charlie Chaplin to Mel Brooks to Walter Moers and Dani Levy, and even British antifascist magazine Searchlight has used humour in its work. If Prince Harry and Aidan Burley are anything to go by, Hitler is widely considered both funny and wrong – which is something the novel stresses throughout. Plus, Vermes brings in a great deal of biting critique of today's media and politics - which is what my friend liked best about the novel. 

The modern-day Adolf joke would wear a bit thin over 250 pages, though, if it weren’t for the rather clever psychological observations of all the nonsense people are prepared to get up to when faced with a “fake” Adolf Hitler. I particularly enjoyed this aspect of the book, which gave it an intelligent edge. Rights have sold to Spain, Norway and Italy - fans of edgy humour should keep their fingers crossed for a UK/US publisher. My alternative title/subtitle: Who Do You Think You Are Kidding Mister Hitler?

Ending Translator Invisibility

The school holidays are eating my brain. There are so many things I ought to be blogging about!

First of all, the winners of CEATL's Spot the Translator video contest are here! Hurrah! An end to translator invisibility!

Secondly, 90% of almost 2000 respondents to a survey in German trade mag Börsenblatt said translators ought to be named on book covers! This may have something to do with there not being a lobby in favour of translator invisibility. The lovely Isabel Bogdan wrote a guest column in the mag about one reason why translators tend to be invisible - because our names are so rarely on book covers. Perhaps things will change in that respect in Germany, as they have for the most part in the USA. Oddly, British publishers are quite stubborn about these things - but on the other hand, they pay better.

Martin Walser's Lost Diary

Speaking of things publishers do for writers, Rowohlt has offered a €3000-reward for the finder of 85-year-old Martin Walser's diary. He left it on a train, he told press agency dpa.

He'd been travelling a great deal over the past twelve months, to Chicago, Paris, London, Copenhagen, Helsinki, Brussels, Luxemburg. "The mood in the Hancock Building in Chicago, November, five in the afternoon. Walking all the way across London again, the city where all the world's at home. In Helsinki, my God, the Finnish encounters alone." He wonders whether anyone can make sense or use of his notes. "Of my over 200 pages of novel plans, for example 'The Prisoner' or 'The Staging'? Or of the draft of an essay on 'Love without sex and sex without love'?" (My translation)

The book was bound in red linen and had no name or address written in it. We know more or less what was in there now - so surely those of us with time and imagination to spare could cash in by recreating the lost Walser notes. Here's a sample of his handwriting to get you started.

This service will no longer be offered by publishers in the near future.

...
Literatur: Martin Walser vermisst sein Reise-Tagebuch - weiter lesen auf FOCUS Online: http://www.focus.de/panorama/boulevard/literatur-martin-walser-vermisst-sein-reise-tagebuch_aid_831745.html

LitFlow

So the LitFlow people held this convention about "next literature" and called it a think tank. It went over two days and I made the mistake of only going on one. Because yes, it was very inspiring. You can read some of the stuff that went on there at their website or listen to the actual presentations plus interviews, etc. at Litradio. And you really should, if you're interested in possible futures of the reading and writing world.

It's a little late for me to give you any proper description of what went on - Sarah Erhardt has done so at litaffin, as has a cynical Katharina Teutsch at the FAZ and Jamal Tuschick at the Book Fair blog. So all you're getting from me are impressions and musings. They are also too long. That's the blessing and the curse of the blog form.

What I missed was a discussion of "next literature" - ways in which the media we write for will change how we write. Which I suppose is speculative anyway. I did find a little of it in Kenneth Goldsmith's talk when I listened to it online, although I was frightened off a little by statements like "Everybody's been to the Musée d'Orsay." Um, no, actually. Also he said he thought Helene Hegemann's act of appropriating authenticity was fantastic but he wasn't going to read it because the future of reading is not reading. And he said that 140 characters is better than long blog posts. Which made me sigh a little because it seemed symptomatic of a failure to embrace diversity of form - if I have something I want to share, I don't want to have to limit it to 140 characters. Maybe I do have a very succinct point to make (or indeed maybe I want to draw attention to a longer point someone else has made), but maybe I want to explore and develop an idea of my own over more space. What it did make me realise though is that blogs and twitter and whatever comes next are in fact forms of "next literature" themselves, influencing the way we write now and in the future. Look at the rise of first-person journalism as an example! Yes, I know that's been said before. But perhaps the act of various individuals repeating ideas is now a way for them to become established, if indeed it wasn't beforehand.

What I appreciated was the industry professionals' viewpoints, most notably Rita Bollig of Bastei Lübbe Entertainment and Elisabeth Ruge of Hanser Berlin. These two women were passionate about the benefits of digital options for publishing, and not just for marketing purposes. Do look up what they had to say. Probably my favourite eventlet was the non-discussion between Bollig and Mathias Gatza. Gatza is a former editor and publisher and now a writer, who flatly refused to be drawn into a discussion on what authors could do to make use of digital possibilities in an effort to market their work. He quite pointedly distanced himself from Bastei Lübbe, which he seemed to feel was miles away from him as a writer of "literature literature literature". Yet as far as I understand, he's planning to set up a digital-only publishing house for "courageous writing" of the type established publishers don't want to print. And he hasn't thought about the wider opportunities that would offer?

Apparently they want to publish in German and English simultaneously. Which was another thing that wound me up slightly, because - as another project that was introduced, namely the Libroid, suggested - there seemed to be little awareness of the practical aspects of translation issues. I know, it's a niche subject. Maybe I should have got over my antipathy towards the individuals in question and just gone and told them - that there aren't many people out there who can translate, that it takes quite a long time, and that defining a unit for translation has to be much more flexible than a sentence-by-sentence basis. Or perhaps the "next author" will have to write differently so as to be more easily translatable. Which would make Tim Parks happy, at least.

But back to the subject of author participation in digital extras. Gatza seemed to be implying that serious literature stands for itself and doesn't need any digital help other than perhaps the eBook as a cheaper distribution medium. Or perhaps that extras - participatory opportunities, sound and flashing lights, whatever - are only suitable for less serious writing. There are two examples I want to give to prove him wrong.

First is a tiny project that I made myself with the barest minimum of effort and (you'll have noticed) technical savvy. Shadow Boxing Berlin is a Wordpress site that accompanies my translation of Inka Parei's novel The Shadow-Boxing Woman. A friend and I took photos of some of the novel's locations as they are now, not illustrating the writing but raising the issue of change in the city, one of the book's themes. It took two days in total and was part of my research while going about the translation. I'd like to think that writers who do similar research for their novels - perhaps visiting certain places or looking up historical details - could easily put together some kind of digital accompaniment to their work. Especially if they have the support of a publishing house.

On the other end of the scale is Will Self's digital essay Kafka's Wound. I've rarely seen such an ambitious project, featuring musical compositions, archive photography, specially filmed material, a translation discussion, sub-essays and more. The work of many hands, mainly at Brunel University, but all grouped around Self's essay - which is clearly still under his own sole authorship. And it also happens to be one of the most "literary literary literary" things I've seen come out of Britain in a while. It's about Kafka, for God's sake, by a professor of contemporary thought.

Having made that point, I'd like to rewind a little and say - but actually. Because despite all the opportunities and possibilities now available, I do think we have to allow writers to concentrate on the business of writing if that's what they want to do. Jane Friedman shared a lot of ideas about writers, publishing and marketing. For example:

The biggest problem that authors must solve for themselves, year after year, is (1) staying competitive, current, and discoverable in a shifting digital landscape (2) having the right tools to be effective and in touch with their readers, and (3) having a strong network of connections that helps them better market and promote. All of these things are well within a publisher’s ability to assist with, only they haven’t been putting any resource into providing such assistance.

I would tend to disagree. The biggest problem that authors must solve for themselves is writing. There are some who will happily do all the other stuff, investing their time in communicating directly with readers via whatever channels. But as an editor friend pointed out, it's publishers' job, still and even more so in future I suspect, to help readers find those writers who are only good at writing and not at promoting themselves. Ewan Morrison made a similar point well in the Guardian during the Edinburgh festival, rejecting the idea of spending 80% of his time on marketing as a self-published author. As an aside, by the way, there's nothing I like less than writers befriending me on Facebook, only to post nothing but boring stuff about their books. It's like if a plumber invited me out for a drink in an attempt to persuade me to get a new bathroom fitted.

All in all, then, LitFlow left me feeling rather old-fashioned, not least for my fogeyish embracing of vinyl culture (which Kathrin Passig rejected as an analogy for the possible development of p-versus-eBooks). Yes, I still want to read, I still want to read long-form writing, and I still want to read some of it on paper. I still want there to be publishers because I still believe that a division of labour is beneficial to writers and readers (writers do the writing, PR people do the PR, and so on). I have never been to the Musée d'Orsay. Nevertheless, I admired many of the ideas presented at LitFlow, especially a few projects - like Self's essay, incidentally - that were so wonderfully ambitious as to be financially inviable for any kind of for-profit enterprise.

My hope would be that as digital opportunities multiply, so does diversity. That the "next literature" is available on paper and as an on-call satellite projection onto the inside of our eyelids, that robots write weather reports and romantic novels, that 140 characters and 950 pages are equally respected, perhaps by different people. That we still have authorial authority but we have collaborative writing (and translation) too. That writing is done to make a fast buck and at great expense, be that in terms of self-exploitation or investment skimmed off the fast bucks. That the "next literature" is not, in other words, uniform and boring.

New Layout

My friend said the polka dots were distracting. Thank heavens for honest friends.

There will nevertheless be no pictures. Go look at kittens elsewhere if you need that kind of thing - I have no time to spare for such lowly matters. Or Twitter. I have no time for Twitter. I don't own a smartphone, I have a small vinyl collection, I like wearing the palest shade of flesh-coloured tights. So sue me.

Ampersand/MixLit

The publishers And Other Stories have launched their new blog Ampersand - with a special treat made out of all eight of their books so far.

Leonardo Villa-Forte has made a mashup, including parts of Clemens Meyer's story "Riding the Rails", if I'm not mistaken. It speaks volumes about something I've been thinking about recently - what we can do with literature if we abandon the idea of reading as a passive process. Beautiful.