Der Autor Hans-Ulrich Treichels befasst sich in seinem neuesten biographischen Roman abermals mit seiner Kindheit und der Vergangenheit seiner Eltern, wie auch seiner Entwicklung als Schriftsteller. Indem der Westfale östlicher Herkunft das frühe Gestern gedanklich abzuwehren sucht, kann er sich davon nicht lösen. So wird es auf Thus, a permanent subject. "Because nothing brings me as close to the body as that which I seek to fend off an ongoing basis" (p.85), the narrator himself is well aware. Why exactly this defense asks the reader and is curious about the answer Treichel holds.
Although I thought at first reading - Boy, but now is enough. The substance can be drawn sucks, I realized after a few pages that the concern of this writer tolerate a fourth book. Regardless of Treichel's fans who appreciate him for stylistic reasons, not without reason, should the clientele that feels drawn to the subject, but not be very large. Sorry.
Although I thought at first reading - Boy, but now is enough. The substance can be drawn sucks, I realized after a few pages that the concern of this writer tolerate a fourth book. Regardless of Treichel's fans who appreciate him for stylistic reasons, not without reason, should the clientele that feels drawn to the subject, but not be very large. Sorry.
The narrator is the pain of a childhood in the fifties, which was for many boys to be no picnic, for the most part painted black, brown despot fathers. The father of the narrator chastises his children are afraid of his rudeness. In this economy childhood is the top priority and as a result, the eager help of parents in the store. They have lost possessions in the East and transfer the fears - can not exist - to their children. Sales decline in the sales of the father can pay for the narrator immediately start panicking. As a child of displaced persons is the narrator in Westphalia accepted only conditionally. This was normal at that time turned out to be not a disadvantage for the children of so-called refugees because they are generally intellectually more developed than the children of the rooted, so my observation.
still haunted by words such as "load balancing" by the head of the narrator, because they were once performed by the parents constantly in his mouth. That too was normal, because people from the East felt financially disadvantaged. Well, that he calls this normality, so at least they are not forgotten. Optically read to fix the last war to the amputated arm of his father. was
Kriegversehrte it in those Many days. They left an impression in children in general, the Treichel, unfortunately, too little has described. Thinking about it, researching it is certainly very productive.
The parents sent the child appears to be no historical family facts is silent, for any reason whatsoever, from. Where did his grandparents? Why did he not? What about the previous generations? For years he has pushed away those questions. He suffers from biographical emptying, as he stated.
The parents sent the child appears to be no historical family facts is silent, for any reason whatsoever, from. Where did his grandparents? Why did he not? What about the previous generations? For years he has pushed away those questions. He suffers from biographical emptying, as he stated.
collected, the past of his parents, the narrator one today. It is not about to seek the so-called "old country" of his ancestors or his, during the expulsion lost, older brother to see again. Thus, for not cope with his past problems. That is why it is necessary for him to take up the pen again. The question that arises is: Does it make sense in a globalized world research to almost feverish for old rootedness? It seems to me the narrator is looking for something else than it claims to seek.
I'm curious to Treichel's fourth novel on the subject. He will not let the reader safely in the dark. Stylistically, this book also
is again superb.
I'm curious to Treichel's fourth novel on the subject. He will not let the reader safely in the dark. Stylistically, this book also
is again superb.
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