Alan B Wightche – This Branded Love

27 06 2011

‘Insufferable, insensitive, inconceivably successful’. This is all Javé de Lasse had to say about the young German novelist, Alan B Wightche – other than to ponder whether or not the B stood for Beelzebub. He was, of course, way off the mark. The B stands for Benedict. As for the rest, well, he was pretty much on the ball. Although one does wonder why de Lasse came to the conclusion that Wightche’s success was unfathomable. Has not the work of certified idiots always done relatively well in the modern marketplace? Wightche’s philosophy may have foundations as solid as a sugar sandcastle, but so long as he continues to string sentences together with suitable style, it seems probable that he will attract a multitude of readers. Admittedly, his ideas are of the type that charm for a minute or so only before revealing themselves as sickeningly hollow. On the other hand, since the majority of readers aren’t looking to the novel for enduringly thought-provoking ideas, a well-written quick fix will, for now, remain, emminently sellable.

De Lasse, incidentally, could count himself fortunate never to have met the author. For if his novels could be said to be full of tactlessness and cruelty, Wightche himself is oozing with impertinent bratishness. Read the rest of this entry »





Vaclav Runaczek – Verifying Pobot

23 06 2011

Research leads us to all sorts of places. Or do we lead ourselves into all sorts of places with research as an excuse?  In either case, a couple of years I found myself interviewing a computer programmer. Maybe it was the fact that this person was a woman that drove me to it (you go girl! smash those stereotypes!) or maybe it was a desire to understand the world in which my ex-husband had frequently lost himself (to often devastating effect). In any case, there I was, interviewing the female author of one of the most popular computer games of the last few years: the infamous Eniverse. As far as Eniverse users were concerned, I was interviewing God: the creator of a world in which they existed, if not twenty-fours a day, than at least more hours than they existed in the so-called ‘real world’. Naturally, I was cynical (with serrated edges). On-line worlds were, to me, a ‘Sad Thing’: the refuge of those incapable of facing reality: a playground for deviant and immature minds. I scoffed at them, without reserve. And I’d be lying if I said that this interview caused me to turn this opinion of mine on its head. I was, nevertheless, a little surprised – and more than a little intrigued – by some of the claims that its creator made.

If only she had been a nerdy man: I could have laughed one of those off easily. As it was, she was a human whirlwind, gale-force-infinity: a living climate driven by her confidence in her career and in her creations. She sneered at my own lowly profession: an almost physical sneer, as if someone had pushed a dead toad into my face. I did what? I reviewed books? Read the rest of this entry »





Wilfred Bauermeister – Assignment 1

15 06 2011

It stands to reason that anyone who has spent an evening or two at The Twisted Ankle in the East End of London will probably know of Wilfred Bauermeister. For it is here that the son of the infamous German immigrant Frederic Bauermeister has – for the last decade at least – spent the majority of his time, lending his full support to the oral tradition of storytelling, in-between swigs of cheap Belgian lager. Most of us presumed that Bauermeister would never see his work in print; we hoped, perhaps, that he did not care for it. In fact, he did. Unknown to his friends and acquaintances, he had been working very hard on an epic piece of verse called A Silent One. After several years of work, it was finally published last year by DasBook. It was awful. Written exclusively in rhyming couplets of iambic pentameter, it claimed to tell the tragic story of a deaf dwarf who had fallen in love with a buttercup. Of course, I have no doubt that it did tell this story; but equally little doubt that anyone stuck around to see it through. A quick quotation may explain why this might have been the case: Read the rest of this entry »





The Copper Frog Cup (2006)

2 06 2011

[The third and final contribution from Lucia Noisenbach...]

I smell an obsession. It was Nikolai Gogol who started it all off, back in 1836. In 1897, Edmond Rostand cashed in on this previous writer’s sense. Shostakovich, as anyone knows, joined the party in 1929. In 1967, the French historian Marcel Proboso provided a retrospective of the tradition, kick-starting a re-nose-sance. During the 70s and 80s there were no less than forty two novels on the subject, culminating with Hermann Husch’s pungently inspiring debut Ho Ho Rosy Nose, in 1989. We must turn now our heads to Luxembourg to catch the lingering scent of this creative fixation. Last year’s Weiner Prize included work by the Polish painter Jueri Kwòjescik, the centrepiece of which was his four-part canvas Eight Nose Holes – a lyrical evocation of his own snout, seen from the perspective of his top lip. Now, in 2006, the young Luxembourgian artist Walter Driska enters the fray – and answers the Pole’s challenge – with an equally poetic nasal portrait, a photographic triptych (or trilogy as the artist calls it) entitled The Runny Nose of Luxembourg.

‘The Runny Nose of Luxembourg’

Walter Driska, 2006 Read the rest of this entry »








Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.