On the occasion of the English publication of Tyll, the German author’s latest novel, the two writers and self-confessed “seventeenth-century nerds” consider where research ends and invention begins in historical fiction.
From the book Tyll by Daniel Kehlmann, to be published on February 11.
The use and abuse of art in an imperfect world.
Passion overwhelms comprehension. Comprehension kills passion.
Nicotine, the author’s third novel in as many years, dives into the world of East Coast anarchists.
“The physicians oversee the procedure with a loaded rifle in order to slay any attacking germs.”
In 1946 the Russian astrophysicist Gamow, transported in a US Air Force plane from California to Canada, from there to Washington, and from there to Florida, on each occasion to deliver a lecture, saw WITH HIS OWN EYES—while waiting in a noisy café on New York’s Fifth Avenue during one of the few quiet moments he had to himself—the rotation of atoms and subatomic particles, their spin, the constant revolution of molecules and planets, the rapidly turning stars, galaxies and superclusters.
I wrote: “Do permit me to address a letter to you.”
Sebald pays tribute to the undersung in a newly translated collection of monographs.
Writer Thomas Pletzinger and New York-musician Sufjan Stevens on life on the road, their favorite brooklyn haunts, and Pletzinger’s novel Funeral for a Dog.
Originally published posthumously and recently reprinted by Melville House, The Drinker is Hans Fallada’s brutal account of provincial German shopkeeper Erwin Sommer’s loss of a business client, refusal to admit this to his wife, lightning-fast descent into sordid alcoholism, and incarceration in prison and an insane asylum.
I had learned that the only member of the Seelos family still living in W. was Lukas. The Seelos house had been sold, and Lukas lodged in the smaller house next door, where once Babett, Bina, and Mathild had dwelt.
German novelist Gregor Von Rezzori on his masterpiece, The Death of My Brother Abel, the decline of postwar Europe, and the insurmountable influence of Nabokov.
When I used to go to Berlin before Hitler came to power, my friend Hans Siemsen, a German writer now but rarely read or remembered, always guided me in my choices of readings in contemporary German literature.