Er da. Eine Geschichte.

A short story published in Radieschen: Zeitschrift für Literatur No. 14/2010.  

Es war letzten Frühling gewesen, als ich Max kennen lernte. Wir waren uns zwar kaum auf Anhieb sympathisch, aber irgendetwas, und mochte es die Lagerfeuerromantik oder der Alkohol gewesen sein, veranlasste uns schließlich dazu, uns längere Zeit zu unterhalten. Es war eines dieser unzähligen Studentenfeste Ende Mai unter freiem Himmel und mit unerträglicher Musik, die dennoch ihren Zweck erfüllte, da sie mich nur ungefähr jedes dritte Wort von Max verstehen ließ. 

„ - - an der - - Wien - - Interessen - - tanzen?“ 

Ich nickte vage, was ihm zu gefallen schien. Es stellte sich heraus, dass wir uns für den nächsten Tag verabredet hatten, da Max zum Zwecke der Hochzeit seiner ältesten Cousine einen Tanzkurs belegen musste, ihm dazu aber noch die geeignete Partnerin fehlte. 

Fifty Shades of Great Prose: Erotica for the literary cognoscenti

With the onslaught of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy and the range of spin-offs it inspired, erotic literature seems to have gotten a particularly bad rep (not that it was ever terribly good to start with), which personally I consider a great pity. While I understand the frustration of avid readers with the repetitive vocabulary and bland action of E.L. James' fiction, I'd like to contend that erotic literature does *not* have to read like Shakespeare, Whitman, and Joyce are jointly rotating in their graves. 

Quite the contrary - in the best of cases, literary erotica gives you double the pleasure: titillating images in your head AND lush, gorgeous prose that satisfies your logophilic appetite. Plus, since most of my suggestions below are considered "classics" by mere virtue of their date of publication, they tend to have very demure covers, which means that you can safely read them on the subway, during lunch break, or on a crowded beach. Here are some of my favorite picks for your hot and steamy summer read!

Picture found here.

Don't kiss the frog

July 6^th marked International Kissing Day, which didn’t really affect my daily routine in any substantial way, except that my usual Facebook feed of angry political commentary, inspirational yoga quotes and puppy content was perceptibly interspersed with chap stick ads, kiss-blowing selfies and the well-meaning encouragement (in variations) that I, too, will find my Prince Charming if I just don’t give up on kissing frogs. Here's why I take issue with this saying and the wealth of popular commentary, advice books, and dating manuals it has inspired.

Otto Ubbelohde, Der Froschkönig, ca. 1900. Picture found here.

Drama, Baby

Dear reader,

You may or may have not (but probably yeah) come across a situation in life, whether it was a casual hook-up sorta thing or a more classic (Tinder) dating scenario, where everything went smoothly, you got along great, you were, as they say, in touch with your inner goddess (sorry, I couldn't help myself), and then he went along and spoiled it all by saying that one stupid thing: "But just so you know, babe, I really don't want any drama!"

Melpomene, the Greek Muse of tragedy, with the mask of a weeping (male) face.
Picture found here.

The Peculiar Case of Carrie Mathison, Or: Be That Woman or Die Trying

With the upcoming season premiere of my all-time favorite binge watching delights, Showtime's Homeland, I'm already hyped for the return of one of the most fully fledged, nuanced and refreshing female protagonist that contemporary US-American prime time drama has to offer: Carrie Mathison.

Many of you, my dear readers, might agree (like this commentary), while even more will differ (see here and here), in particular because the character of Carrie seems to lend itself so perfectly to be read as both a feminist role model and the worst thing that has happened to the televisual portrayal of women since the neoliberal, post-feminist fantasy of Sex and the City.

So, what to make of bi-polar, single mother, CIA agent Carrie Mathison, played by Claire Danes? Which one shall it be - Yay, she's a feminist? Nay, she's so not?

Picture: Showtime

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

Donna Tartt's The Secret History is every classical language nerd's dream. Now I don't know about you, but whereas I didn't study Greek at school (even less at college, as Tartt's protagonists do), I did learn to read Latin and, needless to say, loved it. Only a dead language can be that orderly, powerful, mathematical, and precise. I even participated in nation-wide Latin language competitions and I am no longer ashamed to let the world know about it (and yes, my romantic life was virtually nonexistent in high school, but let's just pretend there is no causal connection here at all.). But I digress - let's return to The Secret History and what makes it your perfect weekend read...

Frühling

A short story (in German) written in 2011 - I decided to leave it unedited and unaltered.

1: Alarm

Angestrengt starrte sie ins Halbdunkel. Als der Wecker schließlich läutete, war Julia schon lange wach. Widerwillig setzte sie sich auf und nahm einen Schluck aus der Wasserflasche, die immer griffbereit neben ihrem Bett stand. An Tagen wie diesen konnte sie nie besonders gut schlafen, das lag, wie ihre Mutter immer zu sagen pflegte, bestimmt am Mond. Da träumte sie von den Labradorinseln, und schon fragte sich ihr richtiges, ungeträumtes Ich, ob sie den Hund gefüttert hatte. Dann wieder von der japanischen Kirschblüte, und schon musste sie jäh aus dem Bett springen um nachzusehen, ob sie die Geranien über Nacht zugedeckt hatte, die waren halt so empfindlich. Träge schwang sie sich den Morgenmantel um die Schultern und schlürfte ins Badezimmer. Sie hasste Tage wie diese. Während sie sich die Zähne putzte, rot weiß rauf runter, machte sie Kniebeugen, um den Kreislauf in Schwung zu bringen. Eins, Zwei. Drei, Vier. Ihre Mutter schwor seit Jahrzehnten auf Morgengymnastik. Fünf, Sechs, Sieben. Sie zog sich an und verließ die Wohnung.

Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I’m rather late to the party, but Americanah by Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is the book “about Africa” that we’ve needed to read. The inverted commas should already suggest that this book is as much about the contemporary African continent as Jane Eyre is about nineteenth-century Europe – as any reader of this timeless classic will immediately understand, it indeed is, in the largest possible sense, but to reduce its wealth of thematic expression to a rather restricted spatial and temporal setting would be a rather grave and unforgivable simplification.

July Favorites

What better way to spend some of the rainier days of this summer in bed or on your sofa, propped up with a pillow or two, enjoying some intellectual stimuli in bite-size portions to satisfy your nerdy appetite? Here are some cool online courses to get your nerdista on!