Humor, Satire, and Identity: Eastern German Literature in the 1990s 9783110958140, 9783110195996

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Jill E. Twark Humor, Satire, and Identity

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Jill E. Twark

Humor, Satire, and Identity Eastern German Literature in the 1990s

Walter de Gruyter · Berlin · New York

앝 Printed on acid-free paper which falls within the guidelines 앪 of the ANSI to ensure permanence and durability.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Twark, Jill E., 1968Humor, satire, and identity : eastern German literature in the 1990s / by Jill E. Twark. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-3-11-019599-6 (alk. paper) 1. German wit and humor - Germany (East) 2. Germany (East) - In literature. 3. German literature - 20th century History and criticism. I. Title. PT851.T93 2007 830.9100914-dc22 2007029107

ISBN 978-3-11-019599-6 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at . ” Copyright 2007 by Walter de Gruyter GmbH & Co. KG, D-10785 Berlin All rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign languages. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Printed in Germany Cover design: Christopher Schneider, Berlin Printing and binding: Hubert & Co. GmbH & Co. KG, Göttingen

Acknowledgements My deep gratitude goes to Prof. Marc Silberman at the University of Wisconsin-Madison for his meticulous guidance throughout the formative stages of this project. My husband, Arno Forst, and my family also deserve thanks for supporting me financially and emotionally. Prof. Walfried Hartinger (Universität Leipzig) must be credited with sparking the idea for researching humorous Eastern German literature. To the authors I interviewed, I offer my gratefulness for having shared their experiences with writing in the GDR and postwall periods. Many thanks to the staff of the Deutsche Bücherei in Leipzig, the UW Memorial Library, the German Federal Archives (BArch and SAPMO) and the Akademie der Künste in Berlin (esp. Maren Horn), the Haus der Geschichte/Bibliothek zur Geschichte der DDR in Bonn (Dorothee Schmidt, Brigitta Nowak, Dr. Kessler, Frau Rodenbach, Katharina Röhl, and Petra Wohlfahrt), and the Joyner Library at East Carolina University (esp. Lynda Werdal and Mark Sanders). Prof. Klaus Schuhmann, Nancy Kaiser, Jost Hermand, Marjorie Thomas, Jennifer William, Frank Romer, Charles Fantazzi, and Francesco Izzo contributed diligence and assistance in revising various stages of the manuscript. Thanks and an enormous hug also to Frank Andert, Christel and Marlene Hartinger, Denise Della Rossa, Cordelia Scharpf, Anke Ziolkowska, Rebekah Pryor, Jennifer William, and Chris Godley. This project could not have been completed without research funding from the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD), the RheinischeFriedrich-Wilhelms-Universität in Bonn, and the College of Arts and Sciences at East Carolina University in Greenville, North Carolina. The author interviews "So larmoyant sind sie im Osten gar nicht: Gespräch mit Bernd Schirmer" and "Satireschreiben vor und nach der Wende: Interview mit Matthias Biskupek" from GDR Bulletin 26 (1999): 39-44 and 45-53, have been reprinted here as Appendices 1 and 2 with permission of the former editors of the GDR Bulletin. The co-authored article "Bekenntnisse des Stasi-Hochstaplers Klaus Uhlzscht: Thomas Brussig's Comical and Controversial Helden wie wir," from German Writers and the Politics of Culture: Dealing with the Stasi, ed. Paul Cooke and Andrew Plowman (Houndmills, Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003, 173-194) has been reproduced in Chapter 2 with permission of co-author Kristie Foell and Palgrave Macmillan.

Table of Contents Acknowledgements.......................................................................................... v Introduction: Humor and Satire as Responses to the Wende .............. 1

A Typology of Satirical Genres in Eastern German Texts ....................... 9 Defining Humor and Satire ......................................................................... 13 The Question of Utopia in Eastern German Satire ................................. 17 Irony, Parody, the Grotesque, and the Absurd ........................................ 21

Chapter 1: The Comic Survivor: Self-Irony and Defensiveness in the Post-Wende Transition ........................................................................... 25

Thomas Rosenlöcher's Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern .... 27 The Hapless Wanderer as East German Anachronism ...................... 31 The Mock Harz Pilgrimage as the Quest for a New Identity ............ 34 Guilt by Association: Western Stereotypes and Eastern Defensive Metaphors .................................................................................................. 37 Irrational Fears and Fantastical Threats: A Dream Interpretation ... 41 The Transitional Identity: Ostalgie and Alienation ............................... 43 Bernd Schirmer's Schlehweins Giraffe ............................................................ 46 The Giraffe as an Allegory for Eastern Germans ............................... 47 Fooling Around: Schirmer's Comical Narrator.................................... 50 Western and Eastern German (Stereo)typical Characters .................. 54 Self-Reflexive Satire: Coming to Terms with Past and Present through Writing......................................................................................... 55 Jens Sparschuh's Der Zimmerspringbrunnen .................................................. 58 Hinrich Lobek's Exaggerated Optimism as Epic Humor .................. 59 Lobek's Symptomatic Speechlessness ................................................... 62 Test the West: How Lobek Learns the Salesman's Trade .................. 63 The Rise and Fall of a Salesman ............................................................. 67 Conclusions: Transition and Liberation .................................................... 69

Chapter 2: The Picaresque as a Means to Reckon with the GDR .. 72

The Picaresque Genre and its Applicability to Postwall Texts .............. 76 Thomas Brussig's Helden wie wir................................................................... 79 The Hyperbolic Confession as Critique of Official Accounts of the Fall of the Wall and Media Representations of the Stasi ........ 84 The Family as Source of Pathology and Metonymn for the GDR... 88 Subverting Socialist Ideals with the Perverse Body............................. 92 Deflating Stasi Manipulation and Abuse of Language........................ 99

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Bashing Christa Wolf: Brussig's Attacks on GDR Intellectuals, Women, and Ostalgie ............................................................................... 105 Matthias Biskupek's Der Quotensachse ........................................................ 111 A Typically Saxon Opportunist ............................................................ 113 The Politically Correct Gangster .......................................................... 118 East-West Stereotypes: Mario Zwintzscher Takes on the West ..... 121 Die früher vormals ehemalige Ex-DDR: Linguistic Playfulness.............. 123 Episodic Narration and (Auto)biography as Factual Distortion..... 124 Reinhard Ulbrich's Spur der Broiler ............................................................. 126 Bildungsroman or Picaresque Novel?...................................................... 129 (A)typical Characters and the Socialist Collective Mentality............ 133 Exposing Absurd Socialist Language with Childhood Naivete ...... 136 The Ideology of Consumer Culture..................................................... 137 Conclusions: Why the Picaresque in Post-Wende Narratives? .............. 143

Chapter 3: Regional Identities and Family Feuds under the Microscope of Ironic Realism .................................................................. 149

Erich Loest's Katerfrühstück......................................................................... 153 Opposites Don't Always Attract: Western Self vs. Eastern Other . 158 Regional Mentalities and Dialects as Sources of Satire..................... 164 Bruderkrieg: Aesthetic Ideals vs. Hard Realities in West and East ... 167 Guns, Violence, and Bodily Functions: Less Funny Uses for the Grotesque and Scatology ....................................................................... 171 A Hangover Breakfast to Follow the Euphoria ................................. 174 Ingo Schulze's Simple Storys ........................................................................ 175 The Local Meets the Global in "Provincial" Eastern Germany...... 180 Biographical Ruptures: Tragicomic Eastern German Stories .......... 184 Egoism, Mortality, and the Environment ........................................... 187 Self-Parody and Crime Story Hyperbole in the "Wild East" ........... 191 Conclusions: Binaries and (Un)successful Identities ............................. 193

Chapter 4: Grotesque Configurations of Body, Language, and Narrative as Expressions of Trauma and Refractory Identities .... 196

Defining the Grotesque.............................................................................. 200 The Grotesque in Postwar West and East German Literature ............ 204 Volker Braun's Der Wendehals .................................................................... 208 Reincarnating Hinze and Kunze?: The Origins of Braun's Satire... 212 Schaber's Grotesque and Absurd Traumatized Body ....................... 223 Braun's Rhetorically Complex, Cabaret-Like Language ................... 229 From Utopia to "Experience": Gerhard Schulze and Jon Elster .... 235 Moving Beyond Satirical Critiques: Seven Short Stories .................. 239 Kerstin Hensel's Gipshut ............................................................................. 244

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Grotesque Bodies: A "Neuer Mensch" and a Socialist Heroine ..... 246 Hensel's Ironic and Grotesque Language ........................................... 252 Grotesque Narratives Part 1: The Picaresque Antagonist ............... 258 Grotesque Narratives Part 2: Fairy Tales and the Fantastic ............ 265 Grotesque Narratives Part 3: The Quest-Romance Novel .............. 273 The Multigenre Technique: Gipshut vs. Auditorium panopticum vs. Thomas Brussig vs. GDR Feminist Writers ....................................... 276 Conclusions: Pessimism, Utopia, and the Individual ............................ 280

Conclusion: Building an Eastern German Identity by Sustaining and Subverting Past and Present German Society............................. 286

The New Character of Eastern German Humor and Satire ................ 290 Satirical Stereotypes and Unruly Identities .............................................. 295 The Quandary of Utopia ............................................................................ 300 The Paradox of Identity-Building Through Humor and Satire ........... 304 Positioning Eastern Humor in a Wider German Context .................... 307

Appendices ..................................................................................................... 311

Appendix 1: Interview with Bernd Schirmer .......................................... 313 Appendix 2: Interview with Matthias Biskupek ..................................... 325 Appendix 3: Interview with Thomas Rosenlöcher ................................ 341 Appendix 4: Interview with Jens Sparschuh ........................................... 369 Appendix 5: Interview with Reinhard Ulbrich ....................................... 384

Works Consulted .......................................................................................... 409

Introduction Humor and Satire as Responses to the Wende Since the fall of the Berlin Wall, Eastern German authors have added a great many humorous and satirical works to the German literary corpus. Their texts contribute to a general trend toward the comic genre in literature, film, and cabaret in unified Germany.1 I began researching this trend after attending a seminar with Prof. Walfried Hartinger at the Universität Leipzig in 1993, in which Bernd Schirmer and Thomas Rosenlöcher read from their recently published satirical novels. Since then diverse artworks expanding this trend have been treated in media and scholarly forums.2 Up to now, however, scholars have either focused on one specific satirical genre or narrative technique like the Bakhtinian carnivalesque (Symmank 2002), the "naïve gaze" (Nause 2002), or the grotesque (Marven and Sich, both 2005); on how comical novels depict the GDR (Igel 2005); on film comedies (Naughton 2002); or on articles and Ossi-Wessi jokes from the East(ern) German satirical magazine "Eulenspiegel" (Howell 2004). Despite the wealth of secondary literature examining various artworks and particular humorous or satirical strategies, the wider phenomenon of Eastern German humor and satire in literary texts, appearing in various genres and as a broad reaction not only to the end of the GDR, but also to postwall Eastern German experiences and the West, remains to be explored. The fall 1989 revolution, referred to in German as the Wende or "turn of events," and the subsequent unification of Germany on October 3, 1990, drastically altered the lives of Germans from the German Democratic Republic (GDR). While Western Germans bore the brunt of financing unification, Eastern Germans not only faced entirely new structures on a daily basis, but after the initial euphoria passed they also _____________ 1 2

In the early 1990s, for example, the number of cabaret troupes in Leipzig increased from two to nine. Walfried Hartinger and Christine Cosentino were among the first scholars to discuss works belonging to this group (Hartinger, "Texte nach der Wende: Versuch eines Überblicks," Berliner LeseZeichen 6+7 (1995): 55-65 and Cosentino, "Scherz, Satire und Ironie in der ostdeutschen Literatur der neunziger Jahre," Journal of English and Germanic Philology 10 (1998): 467-487). A wide range of secondary literature on the topics of satire, humor, and related modes in postwall literature and film is provided in the bibliography, section 2.3.

2

Introduction

were forced to deal with mass unemployment, the influx of Western cultural values, and a sudden rupture in their personal lives.3 Given the weight of these issues, it may come as a surprise that humor and satire are key devices in Eastern German literary texts dealing with the complicated transition from an oppressive socialist regime to a free-market democracy. However, these texts emerge out of an established satirical tradition in GDR literature. Written under new, less restrictive circumstances, they represent both a continuation of and a break with this tradition. The multiple functions of satire and humor—to attack, criticize, educate, conciliate, and/or entertain—also provide important clues as to why these modes have been employed so frequently. As responses to lived experience, they can help artists and their public come to terms with difficult new social circumstances. In an interview with the Eastern German author Bernd Schirmer in June 1999, I asked him whether his humorous and satirical stance may have helped his readers to come to terms with the time following unification. He replied: Das auf alle Fälle. Also das habe ich bei Lesungen gemerkt oder in Briefen, die mir geschrieben worden sind. Das ist doch für manche sehr heilsam gewesen. Sie sind einfach dadurch mit manchen Dingen leichter fertig geworden, in dem sie gemerkt haben, es geht nicht nur ihnen so. Und ihr Schicksal ist wert genug gewesen, literarisch behandelt zu werden. Das ist im Osten so gewesen. Im Westen war es eigentlich ein Stück Aufklärung, ein gewisses Aha-Erlebnis, würde ich sagen: so larmoyant und so verbiestert sind die im Osten also gar nicht. Die können ja sogar über sich selbst lachen. Das war sehr wichtig.4 (Appendix 1, 318)

This testimony, echoed by other authors represented here, confirms these Eastern German literary contributions to be valuable cultural documents that focus attention on GDR and post-Wende experiences. Despite, and perhaps because of, their often harsh, critical contents, these texts expose truths about East(ern) German experiences that media and official historical records may miss or intentionally ignore.5 _____________ 3

4 5

Throughout this study, I refer to Germans who lived in the GDR as "East Germans," and those living in the east after October 3, 1990 as "Eastern Germans." Correspondingly, "West Germans" refer to residents of the former Federal Republic, and "Western Germans" refer to residents from the western part of unified Germany. While I am aware of the reductionism involved in referring to all Germans simply as "Eastern Germans" and "Western Germans," since the authors whose texts I analyze refer to each group in this way (by nature humor and satire are reductive modes which frequently rely on stereotypes and generalizations) and for the sake of brevity, I am compelled to use these terms here. This interview was originally published under the title "So larmoyant sind sie im Osten gar nicht: Gespräch mit Bernd Schirmer" in GDR Bulletin 26 (1999): 39-44. See Oliver Igel, Gab es die DDR wirklich? Die Darstellung des SED-Staates in komischer Prosa zur "Wende" (Tönning: Der Andere, 2005) 13; Roswitha Skare, "Zeitgeschichte im Roman. Vom Sinn oder Unsinn des Wartens auf den Wenderoman," "Zeitenwende – die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert ". Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien

Humor and Satire as Responses to the Wende

3

There are many possible explanations for this widespread cultural phenomenon. Some can be derived from theories of human psychology and the aesthetic functions of satire and humor, and others from the specific sociohistorical context of German unification.6 One particularly fitting explanation can be deduced from the philosopher Immanuel Kant's assertion that laughter is the result of a tensed expectation that suddenly ends in nothing. Kant argues that everything which produces laughter is somehow absurd and, therefore, contrary to human reason.7 Compared to the high expectations on both sides of the wall, the immediate results of unification in the East, including high unemployment, insecurity about the future, and bruised identities, indeed appear absurdly unplanned. These dashed expectations provoke laughter, but also cynical and grotesque responses. Sigmund Freud postulates that the lower the level of inhibition or repression, the greater the enjoyment of humor.8 This link suggests a further psychological explanation for a humorous reaction to the Wende. Having lived in a repressive society, GDR citizens suddenly gained the opportunity to release their pent-up emotions of anger, frustration, and disappointment. One productive way to do this was through satirical and humorous writing, with which they could suddenly lampoon and criticize freely, without fear of governmental censorship. Scholars like Joachim Ritter, Wolfgang Ertl, and Sabrina Born support the idea of humor as an act of liberation—or, as Ertl calls it, "ein trotz alledem befreiendes Lachen in schwerer Zeit"(37)—for GDR authors after unification.9 _____________

6

7 8 9

2000, ed. Peter Wiesinger, vol. 7, 75-80, 76; and Twark, "'Ko...Ko…Konolialismus,' said the giraffe: Humorous and Satirical Responses to German Unification," Textual Responses to German Unification: Processing Historical and Social Change in Literature and Film, ed. Carol Anne Costabile-Heming, Rachel J. Halverson, and Kristie A. Foell (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 2001) 151-169, 151-153. The following theoretical arguments for the proliferation of humorous and satirical texts following German unification have appeared in slightly altered form in "Mathias Wedel and Matthias Biskupek: Two Satirists 'im Wandel der Wende'," glossen 10 (2000), 19 January 2001 and Twark, "'Ko…Ko…Konolialismus" 151-153. "Kritik der Urteilskraft," Werke in sechs Bänden, vol. 5, ed. Wilhelm Weischedel (Wiesbaden: Insel, 1957) 437. Der Witz und seine Beziehung zum Unbewußten (Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1961) 96. Freud's theory serves paradigmatically here for other attempts to explain predominant cultural codes from a psychological perspective. Ritter, "Über das Lachen," in Steffen Dietzsch, ed., Luzifer Lacht: Philosophische Betrachtungen von Nietzsche bis Tabori (Leipzig: Reclam, 1993), 92-118; Ertl, "'Denn die Mühen der Ebene lagen hinter uns und vor uns die Mühen der Berge': Thomas Rosenlöchers diaristische Prosa zum Ende der DDR," Literatur und politische Aktualität, ed. Elrud Ibsch and Ferdinand von Ingen (Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1993), 21-37; and Born, "Frei sein wollen und frei sein können: Die Wende und ihre Folgen in der deutschen Erzählliteratur," Magisterarbeit, Freie Universität Berlin, Wintersemester 1996/97.

4

Introduction

Not that there is no censorship in free-market democracies; this censorship just happens to be based on market demands, religious beliefs, or "political correctness" rather than on official government policies. When asked whether he was aware of any taboo topics in postwall Germany, the Eastern German satirist Matthias Biskupek replied: Ich kann ja über alles schreiben, nur es wird nicht alles veröffentlicht. Im Moment haben wir ja auch eine "mainstream" Meinung, besser wir hatten sie. In Sachen Krieg in Jugoslawien gab es sie. In allen Organen steht konkret ein bißchen was anderes, in Sachen Kritik an der katholischen Kirche, Abtreibungsregelungen oder so was. Im Prinzip wird in den großen Medien dazu nichts veröffentlicht. Aber ich kann meine Meinung schon veröffentlichen, aber eben in Winkelblättern [bei kleinen Verlagen].10

One essential problem for Eastern German satirists, as for other Eastern authors following the Wende, was no longer to avoid government regulation by practicing self-censorship, but rather to figure out which topics would sell well and thus attract the best publishers. Referring specifically to this authorial struggle to find a receptive audience, the literary scholar Daniel Sich dismantles the more blatantly satirical texts like Thomas Brussig's Helden wie wir or Jens Sparschuh's Der Zimmerspringbrunnen for depicting the GDR as an "Absurditätenshow," because he believes these authors "sold out" to the market by compromising the literary quality of their texts in order to reach a wide public.11 While "[d]as Publikum goutiert humoristisches Schreiben," a "kraftlose Form entsteht, wenn der Witz auf Kosten der literarischen Substanz geht" (Sich, "Absurditätenshow"). Sich's critiques of the literary quality of many such texts are legitimate. No one would consider Brussig's or Sparschuh's writing style or philosophical depth to be on a par with that of Heinrich Böll or Günter Grass. Furthermore, their overdetermined wordplays and effluvient monologues do eventually become tiresome. Nonetheless, such critiques do not diminish the fact that these texts reached a wide audience in the 1990s. Over 170,000 copies of Helden wie wir (to date in its thirteenth paperback edition) and 100,000 copies of Simple Storys have been sold,12 and the paperback version of Der Zimmerspringbrunnen is in its eleventh edition. All three novels have been adapted into theater plays and/or films and thus received repeated _____________ 10 11 12

Twark, Jill, "Satireschreiben vor und nach der Wende: Interview mit Matthias Biskupek," GDR Bulletin 26 (1999): 45-53, 50 and Appendix 2. "Die DDR als Absurditätenshow – Vom Schreiben nach der Wende," Glossen 21 (2005) . Wiebke Horstmann, S. Fischer Verlag, "Re: Kontaktanfrage von [email protected] an Abt. Verkauf und Vertrieb," Email to the author, 29 June 2007; Ralf Pannemann, Berlin Verlag, "Re: Schulze, Simple Storys," Email to the author, 27 June 2007.

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spectator and media attention.13 They have contributed to lively debates on the GDR past, German unification, and what constitute the most appropriate and aesthetically potent means of depicting past and present. What I find most fascinating about these texts is that they inhabit what might be called a "grey zone" between high and low literature, which had been divided strictly in the GDR into the categories Eliteliteratur and Unterhaltungsliteratur. Tellingly, Brussig's novel has been treated both by Moritz Baßler in Der deutsche Pop-Roman. Die neuen Archivisten (2002) as an example of a new, widespread German movement toward producing popular literature, and by other scholars as the paradigmatic Wenderoman. Journalists, scholars, and students have already devoted thousands of pages to analyzing its psychoanalytical symbolism, literary precedents, picaresque narrator, and so forth. Apparently, personal opinions of what constitute literary quality do not always influence the popular success, potential cultural-political influences, or scholarly attention devoted to any given text. Reading (or viewing) pleasure and historical timing can play equally important roles. These factors have boosted the success of postunification humor and satire. A further reason for the postwall proliferation of satirical texts is thus the sociohistorical context in which they were produced. When two distinct cultures interact, their members become aware of cultural differences, some of which are bound to appear odd or comical because of their obvious incongruities. The stereotypes and cultural differences that developed between East and West Germany over the course of forty years could not and have not dissolved instantaneously. Friedrich Georg Jünger and Helmut Arntzen's observation that satire is often used as a literary form in transitional times such as during or after wars or when political systems change, to root out antiquated institutions and behaviors while ushering in the new, buttresses this argument.14 In releasing their emotions while criticizing society, artists and their public aspire to speed up the process of coming to terms with the past. In absorbing the GDR into the larger Federal Republic, the latter turned GDR citizens into denigrated and disadvantaged Others; being the economically and politically smaller and weaker of the two Germanies, East Germany was not able to assert itself during the unification process. Except for the _____________ 13

14

Helden wie wir, dir. Sebastian Peterson, Senator, 1999 and dir. Peter Dehler, Deutsches Theater Berlin, September 2001; Der Zimmerspringbrunnen, Peter Timm, Senator 2000 and dir. Oliver Reese, Maxim Gorki Theater Berlin, September 1996; and Simple Storys, dir. Lukas Langhoff, Neue Szene Theater Leipzig, October 1998. Jünger, Über das Komische (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1949, orig. 1936), quoted in Joachim W. Jaeger, Humor und Satire in der DDR 29-30 and Arntzen, Satire in der deutschen Literatur: Geschichte und Theorie (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1989) 44-45.

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Introduction

"grüner Pfeil" allowing traffic to turn right on red and the right to abortion, nearly all Eastern laws were usurped by Western ones overnight on October 3, 1990. The clash of cultures brought about by German unification lends itself to humorous treatment precisely because of the contrasts that remained between Eastern and Western German social, economic, and political structures, despite the (initially superficial) overlay of Western laws and ideologies on the East. The catchy and politically charged phrase "Zukunft ist Herkunft"15— one's origins are one's future—indicates the primary dilemma with which Eastern German citizens were confronted after the fall of the wall: no matter how well they succeeded in adapting to changes, the hurdles they encountered were not only psychological, sociopolitical, and economic ones, but included prejudice and disdain from the West. Regardless of what the Easterners do, they bear a stigma because of their different background. Joachim Ritter theorized that wherever and for whatever reason a dominant and accepted reality shuts out the possibility for other realities or declares them to be invalid, laughter is the means by which those marginalized in this manner can make themselves heard: In der Welt des Humors [...] wird damit das Lachen zu der Macht, die dieses Abseitige festhält, so wie sie es findet, als das Närrische und Lächerliche, um zugleich von ihm her die vorgegebene und angemaßte Ordnung der verständigen Welt in Frage zu stellen, durchsichtig zu machen und selbst der Lächerlichkeit preiszugeben (Luzifer Lacht 117).

Through laughter the marginalized can call the dominant order into question and thereby assert their existence. By reproducing their identity in relation to the dominant culture and laughing at it, the marginalized act out their belonging to this group. Thus, in adding their voices of laughter and of protest to the realm of the public sphere through cultural activism, Eastern Germans can contribute at least to the acknowledgement of their existence as a distinct group within the larger German context, and perhaps raise their status in this context since they cannot be viewed as passively accepting their position as Other. By depicting ambiguous, active protagonists, Eastern German authors explode the stereotype of the passive, conformist, socialist subject. A person who uses humor or satire distances herself from the object of this humor. In difficult circumstances, humor also bolsters morale. Through satire, authors can simultaneously distance themselves from and express dismay at social issues in a playful manner that prevents their critiques from appearing overly plaintive. _____________ 15

Steffen Dietzsch uses this phrase in an interview with Odo Marquard to refer to the East German situation after 1989, "'Das Lachen ist die kleine Theodizee.' Odo Marquard im Gespräch mit Steffen Dietzsch," Luzifer Lacht: Philosophische Betrachtungen von Nietzsche bis Tabori, ed. Steffen Dietzsch (Leipzig: Reclam, 1993) 8-21, 8.

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Considering the Western German condemnation of Easterners as whiners (Jammerer) after the Wende, it was important for the latter to empower themselves and to strengthen their identities as a self-confident Trotzidentität that can be respected, and not a pitiful Jammerossi-Identität, by countering this stereotype. The East Berlin reporter and author Daniela Dahn argued for this position in the mid-1990s, despite its potentially problematic connotations of being immature or unconciliatory, in Westwärts und nicht vergessen: Das Unbehagen in der Einheit.16 In order to analyze and eventually characterize this trend, granting it the in-depth treatment it deserves, I have thus selected ten representative prose texts to examine in detail. This text selection is based on four essential criteria. First, the texts had to have been written by Eastern German authors who grew up in the GDR. Whether or not the authors had written humorous or satirical texts prior to the fall of the Berlin Wall is not essential, since I concentrate on their texts as reactions to this particular historical event. Second, each fictional text had to historicize and/or depict a coming-to-terms either with the GDR past or the unification process and its immediate effects primarily on Eastern German citizens, since unification has had a much greater impact on former GDR citizens than on former Bundesbürger. Thus the narrated time frame is restricted to the period between 1945 and the mid-1990s. Third, each text had to have been written in a predominantly humorous or satirical mode, assuming that humor and satire include the ironic, picaresque, and grotesque modes. Finally, the texts had to be written in prose and of novel or near-novel length. According to Stephen Brockmann, "[i]t is mostly in prose literature that western societies confront larger social problems from the vantage point and with the prestige of what one might call, using concepts developed by Peter Bürger with respect to art in general, the "institution literature."17 Bürger's designation of literature as an "institution" in bourgeois societies, similar to the church or the state, fortifies my argument that prose texts like the ones discussed here function autonomously. Longer prose texts allow authors to say more about their experiences, providing details, anecdotes, and (auto)biographical information generally not found in drama or poetry. Furthermore, prose works tend to be accessible to a broader audience than drama or poetry (although, arguably, less accessible than film). The wide popularity of the majority of these works, which have reached many people in both the Eastern and Western parts of Germany, as well as other parts of the world, attests to their topical significance. In _____________ 16 17

Berlin: Rowohlt, 1996, 7-10. Literature and German Reunification (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1999) 19. Brockman quotes Peter Bürger, Theorie der Avantgarde (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1974) 15.

8

Introduction

order to assess not only the texts themselves, but also their effects on Eastern and Western German readers, I conducted interviews with six of the ten Eastern German authors highlighted here between 1993 and 2000.18 The central questions addressed in this study are: Why have so many Eastern German authors utilized humor and satire in their post-Wende texts? Whom or what do these authors target or reinforce? Which specific modes of humor and satire do they employ to achieve their aesthetic and political goals? How do their texts contribute to the establishment of a distinct, Eastern German identity? The concept of "identity" can be defined simply as the "answer to the question of who somebody is."19 The answer to this simple question, however, requires complex descriptions and analyses. Individual personalities are constructed from multiple sources, including aspects beyond one's control (race, gender) and conscious choices (career, freetime activities, place of residence). As Konrad H. Jarausch has stated, identity issues not only relate to individuals, but also to how these individuals relate to each other within groups, how nations define themselves internally and within the world community, and how individual and/or group identities are manifested in cultural products (After Unity 5). Here I focus on how Eastern German satirical literature as a particular brand of cultural product reflects and (de)constructs prevailing notions of an Eastern German identity. Does the specific GDR tradition of humorous and satirical literature still inform post-unification Eastern German texts and if so, how? Do these authors promote a specific utopian vision, or have they lost such a vision with the demise of the GDR's socialist experiment? Above all, how do Eastern German humorous and satirical texts function within the larger contexts of post-unification Eastern Germany and of German society as a whole? Dividing these texts into four categories, according to their specific satirical genres, enables me to highlight commonalities and differences between them and to answer the above questions systematically.

_____________ 18 19

The authors are Matthias Biskupek, Volker Braun, Thomas Rosenlöcher, Bernd Schirmer, Jens Sparschuh, and Reinhard Ulbrich. All authors have graciously allowed me to include excerpts within my analyses and, except for Braun, in full text in the Appendices. Christian Meier, Die Nation, die keine sein will (München: Hanser, 1991), cited in Konrad H. Jarausch, "Reshaping German Identities: Reflections on the Post-Unification Debate," Introduction to After Unity: Reconfiguring German Identities, ed. Konrad H. Jarausch, Modern German Studies Series, vol. 2 (Providence, RI: Berghahn, 1997) 1-23, 4.

A Typology of Satirical Genres in Eastern German Texts

9

A Typology of Satirical Genres in Eastern German Texts Exploring a diverse range of satirical texts produced in the 1990s, I discovered many characteristics that tie them together. All incorporate linguistic playfulness, a plethora of intertextual references, and typical characters—usually stereotypical Easterners and Westerners. I attribute these similarities not only to the nature of satire in general, but also to biographical factors, including the authors' ages, length and type of East and West German experience, and worldviews, as well as to their shared literary influences and attitudes toward unification. Despite many similarities, the works also display significant differences. Some authors embrace unification, while others display nostalgia for the GDR (expressed after unification as "Ostalgie," contracting "Ost" or "East" with "Nostalgie"), and yet others, while attacking the GDR, simultaneously express disillusionment and frustration at the loss of their home country's Marxist utopian experiment. The ten novels I have selected here, therefore, have been divided into chapters based on their subject matter and dominant satirical aproaches: self-irony as a form of self-defense, the picaresque, ironic realism, and the grotesque. This grouping also takes into consideration each text's publication date, narrated time frame, and narrative point-of-view. Chapter 1 features three immediate responses to the fall of the Berlin Wall by Thomas Rosenlöcher (Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern), Bernd Schirmer (Schlehweins Giraffe), and Jens Sparschuh (Der Zimmerspringbrunnen). In these texts a first-person narrator deploys selfirony to critique, and thereby come to terms with, the events following the Wende. Since these texts were written so soon after the wall fell, between 1990 and 1995, the humorous and satirical strategies the authors adopt do not reflect a confident mastery of the subject. Rather, they convey a bafflement or helplessness as to how to put unification experiences into words. Because their protagonists belong to the literary type of the "loser" or antihero, the authors' approach often appears more defensive than aggressive. The time and space in which each narrator lives and acts—like that of all Eastern characters in these novels—is what Arnold Van Gennep and Victor Turner call "liminal," in other words, lodged between two distinct political systems. From this "liminal" vantage point, the protagonists in these three texts seek meaning in their past and present lives and construct new realities for themselves by reflecting on, calling attention to, and generating a new, post-Wende language. Language in the GDR held other connotations for East Germans than for Westerners, consisting as it did of two distinct communicative perspectives: a public and a private discourse, both of which were

10

Introduction

influenced greatly by official government rhetoric and rather homogenous living conditions compared to the West: auch die private Kommunikation der DDR-Deutschen kam als Folge der sehr engen Vorgaben durch das offizielle Formelsystem und der im ganzen Land gleichförmig herrschenden Lebensbedingungen mit einem [. . .] stark reduzierten System sprachlicher Zeichen aus, die mehr als nur auf einen konkreten Fall angewandt wurden und dabei allerdings eine sehr viel stärkere Aussagekraft als formal identische sprachliche Zeichen im Westen hatten.20

GDR citizens carefully considered the context and the origin of any discourse before judging its meaning and truth content.21 After the Wende, many words or phrases like "abhauen" (indicating both "to leave" and "to defect to the West"), "Sieger der Geschichte" (the phrase applied to the communists' role as victors in the inevitable development toward communism as the apex of human history), or even "kaufen"—which referred to an existential struggle in the East, and a pleasurable free-time activity in the West—have now lost their former connotations and/or come to be used ironically.22 Most authors in this study revel in the fact that they can now play freely with socialist language. Taking a ludic approach, they mock it and free themselves from its formerly repulsive, propagandistic aura, but also preserve it for the amusement and amazement of current and future generations. Because entering into western society is not perceived as entirely liberating, they also deride the language of capitalism, which includes the jargon of the Western German and U.S. marketing and public relations industries. Their linguistic playfulness resists the propagandistic nature of language in any ideological system, forcing the reader to slow down, ponder this use of language and the objects to which it refers, and consider its implications. Although such linguistic playfulness became the trademark of GDR authors like Volker Braun (b. 1934), poets and cabarettists like Hansgeorg Stengel (19222003), and the avant-garde Prenzlauer Berg poets, its abundance within long Eastern German prose texts, rare in the GDR, appears now to be a more mainstream phenomenon in the East. In keeping with the focus of this study on postwall satirical discourse as it is tied to identity, the authors' use of language is examined in each chapter. _____________ 20

21 22

Horst Dieter Schlosser, "Ostidentität mit Westmarken? Die 'dritte Sprache' in Ingo Schulzes Simple Storys zwischen DDR-Deutsch und Bundesdeutsch," An der Jahrtausendwende. Schlaglichter auf die deutsche Literatur. Frankfurter Forschungen zur Kulturund Sprachwissenschaft 6, ed. Christine Cosentino, Wolfgang Ertl and Wolfgang Müller (Frankfurt a.M.: Lang, 2003) 53-68, 58. Tiffany Howell, V/banished Identities: The Case of Eastern German Humor, unpublished diss., U of California-Berkeley, 2004, 138. Schlosser 56-58 and Howell 138. Howell cites "Es ist ein anderes Leben," Der Spiegel 39 (1990): 34-61, 45.

A Typology of Satirical Genres in Eastern German Texts

11

Chapter 2 unites three picaresque texts by Thomas Brussig, Matthias Biskupek, and Reinhard Ulbrich, published between 1995 and 1998. These texts—Helden wie wir, Der Quotensachse, and Spur der Broiler—are all fictional autobiographies with subversive, rogue "heroes" who promote a more conscious and assertive distancing from and reckoning with the GDR. Tracing the protagonists' lives from birth to adulthood in the GDR and then continuing briefly past unification, these satires illustrate the personal rupture which the Wende initiated in the narrators' biographies. These three authors highlight the paradoxical relationship between the restrictive socialist system and the main characters' relative freedom in their personal lives. Unification affects each narrator differently, depending on how he led his life in the GDR. While Brussig and Biskupek supply their protagonists with megalomaniacal character traits, displaying a harsh variety of satire, Ulbrich's pliable narrator conveys a more nostalgic view of the past. In this chapter I engage with Tanja Nause's argument that the narrative technique of the "naïve gaze" should replace the term "picaresque" in describing postwall satirical texts like Helden wie wir. I agree with Nause that the terms picaresque and the corresponding German term "Schelmenroman" have been overused and frequently applied improperly in the discourse surrounding postwall literature. Nevertheless, I disagree with her that novels like Helden wie wir should not be treated as picaresque. I argue instead that such texts reconfigure the picaresque genre to promote through its satirical potential specific ways of remembering East Germany that both feed into and contradict predominant views of "what it was really like" to live there by granting their protagonists human agency and the ability to maneuver successfully through a repressive GDR society and a new, post-Wende situation. In Chapter 3, two self-confident, ironic realist novels by Erich Loest and Ingo Schulze, Katerfrühstück (1992) and Simple Storys: Ein Roman aus der ostdeutschen Provinz (1998), represent the more subtle end of the spectrum of post-1989 literature that is constructed with the conventions of the satirical mode. Their works do not rely on magical realism, fairy tales, or the fantastic to provoke laughter or to launch satirical attacks as all other texts discussed here do. Their works can further be distinguished from the six texts above in that they provide multiple views of the post-unification period, not restricting their narratives to the first-person perspective of a single, Eastern German character. Loest's novel is of particular interest because it presents unification from both Eastern and Western perspectives. The only Eastern German author in the group to have lived for an extended period of time in the Federal Republic prior to unification, Loest delves the deepest into East-West mentality differences. His outsider perspective, which he shares with Schulze, who lived first for

12

Introduction

six months in St. Petersburg, Russia then in New York in the mid-1990s, granted Loest the ability to write early in the 1990s from a calculated distance about unification's wide-reaching effects. Schulze's loosely connected, not really "simple" stories coalesce into a novel whose consciously adopted western format, imitating the American short story and disjointed film narratives like Robert Altman's Short Cuts, produces an ironic friction when contrasted with its purportedly provincial, Eastern German contents. The irony in Katerfrühstück and in Simple Storys arises when their characters' diverse mentalities, attitudes toward unification, and generally tragic fates are juxtaposed with their expectations for what could have been a more fruitful and enjoyable postwall German experience. Both novels' realistic contents also appear ironic when contrasted with their artificial narrative complexity. At the opposite pole of the satirical spectrum, which ranges from the subtly ironic on the one end to the grotesque on the other, two grotesque texts by Volker Braun (Der Wendehals 1995) and Kerstin Hensel (Gipshut 1999) constitute Chapter 4. Braun's work stands out among the other texts in this study because of its dialogic form, which harks back to his most controversial GDR work, the Hinze-Kunze-Roman, completed in 1981, but for political reasons not published until 1985. Gipshut is unique in that it blends two separate but interrelated narratives and multiple genres into a grotesque novel that bursts with fantastical characters, animals, and events. These two authors blend grotesque characters with distorted physical features, disjointed language and narrative, as well as the fantastic, to convey a pessimistic, dystopian view of post-Wende Germany and, in Hensel's case, also of the GDR. Of all texts featured here, Braun's and Hensel's are the most philosophically rich, commenting openly and in symbolic form on the loss of the Marxist utopian ideology and the insecure future of human civilization. Analyzing these authors' multifaceted application of the grotesque mode reveals unification's traumatic effects on Eastern German identities. The Conclusion consolidates my findings and wraps up my assessments of the ways Eastern German satire contributes a distinctly Eastern German voice to the larger German cultural context. Elucidating commonalities and differences among the ten texts from chapters 1 through 4, I appraise how the authors' use of stereotypical and atypical characters within the framework of these novels buttresses and subverts prevailing images of East(ern) Germans. I also compare the phenomenon of humor and satire in post-unification Eastern German literature to the GDR satirical tradition and demonstrate how postwall satire reflects diverse, mostly extra-ideological notions of utopia. Regarding the position and function of Eastern German satire within the larger body of German

Defining Humor and Satire

13

literature and culture at the cusp of the twenty-first century, I argue that this literary trend contributes to the discourse of criticism and identitybuilding following the Wende. Satirists flourish in times when there is nothing to laugh about, such as in the real existing socialist situation of the GDR or in the difficult times which accompany any major sociopolitical shift. The German expression "Humor ist, wenn man trotzdem lacht" articulates this essential paradox of humor's blossoming in the form of satirical critiques in hard times. Apparently, satire and humor can be used as emotional and intellectual crutches or weapons in any fight for survival.

Defining Humor and Satire Satire and humor are two concepts that are hard to define and to distinguish, mainly because perceptions of them are very subjective. In "The Definition of Satire: A Note on Method," Robert C. Elliott writes that "real definitions of terms like satire, tragedy, the novel are impossible. These are what philosophers call open concepts; that is, concepts in which a set of necessary and sufficient properties by which one could define the concept, and thus close it, are lacking."23 The openness Elliott points to as a methodological problem arises in the case of satire and humor in the realm of artistic production because both are regarded as distinct literary genres and as stylistic modes that can be used in any written, spoken, or visual text. Satire's relationship to humor/the comic is also difficult to establish.24 On the one hand, satire has been categorized as a type of humor. On the other hand, satirists often use humor or other literary modes, that is, parody, the grotesque, irony, and so forth, in their satirical texts. Humor is, therefore, a frequent but not necessary component of satire. Considering that "black humor," whereby "sinister objects like death, disease, or warfare are treated with bitter amusement, usually in a manner calculated to offend and shock," is also a type of humor, one can also argue that humor itself is not always humorous or funny.25 For the purposes of this study of ten novels that are simultaneously satirical and more or less humorous, I do not always adhere to strict distinctions _____________ 23 24 25

Yearbook of Comparative and General Literature, 11 (1962): 22. Elliott credits Morris Weitz with inventing the term "open concept" in "The Role of Theory in Aesthetics," Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 15.9 (1956): 27-35. Ludger Claßen, Satirisches Erzählen im 20. Jahrhundert: Heinrich Mann, Bertolt Brecht, Martin Walser, F.C. Delius (München: Fink, 1986) 8. This definition of "black humor" was taken from the listing for "black comedy" in Chris Baldick, The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms (Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 1990) 24.

14

Introduction

between the two terms. Since all texts here express serious sociopolitical critiques, I refer to them in my title and throughout this study as satires. Because all also incorporate humor to varying degrees as inseparable components to bolster these satirical critiques, their humorous approaches being significant criteria for their inclusion here, I particularly focus on the authors' use of humorous techniques as a means to convey satirical criticism. My understanding of the wide range of humor and satire definitions is provided here, beginning with the concept of humor, and they inform the textual analyses that follow. The most fundamental definition of humor is based on the "incongruity theory" of Immanuel Kant and Arthur Schopenhauer, who assert that humor is produced when two juxtaposed ideas or events are perceived as incompatible.26 Kant states specifically that laughter results from the sudden transformation of a tensed expectation into thin air, arguing that everything that produces laughter is somehow contradictory, or at least contrary to human reason.27 Because this definition may apply to any humorous situation, a more useful way to examine it is to break it down into satirical, foolish, and sympathetic subcategories.28 Satirical humor is produced when humor is directed pointedly or aggressively against an object to illustrate its flaws or to censure it in some way. Satire may serve to teach or to uplift morally. During the Enlightenment period and, once again, in the GDR, verlachen, a kind of satire-in-action, was supposed to serve as a form of social control, a means of punishing the object meant to raise awareness and eventually perhaps improve the _____________ 26

27

28

See Rita Bischof, "Lachen und Sein: Einige Lachtheorien im Lichte von Georges Bataille," in Dietmar Kamper and Christoph Wulf, eds., Lachen - Gelächter - Lächeln: Reflexionen in drei Spiegeln (Frankfurt a.M.: Syndikat, 1986) 52-67. Laughter, by contrast, is the human physical reaction to humor, but also to "pleasure, derision, or nervousness," Webster's College Dictionary (New York: Random House, 1995). Immanuel Kant, "Kritik der Urteilskraft," Werke in sechs Bänden, ed. Wilhelm Weischedel, vol. 5 (Wiesbaden: Insel-Verlag, 1957) 437. Kant writes: "Es muß in allem, was ein lebhaftes erschütterndes Lachen erregen soll, etwas Widersinniges sein (woran also der Verstand an sich kein Wohlgefallen finden kann). Das Lachen ist ein Affekt aus der plötzlichen Verwandlung einer gespannten Erwartung in nichts." Schopenhauer states: "Das Lachen entsteht jedesmal aus nichts anderm, als aus der plötzlich wahrgenommenen Inkongruenz zwischen einem Begriff und den realen Objekten, die durch ihn, in irgendeiner Beziehung, gedacht worden waren, und es ist selbst eben nur der Ausdruck dieser Inkongruenz." See Arthur Schopenhauer, Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, vol. 1, § 13, (Stuttgart: Cotta, 1960, repr. 1976) 104-108, 105 and vol. 2, ch. 8, "Zur Theorie des Lächerlichen," 121-135. Theodor A. Meyer, Ästhetik (Stuttgart: F. Enke, 1925) 418-427. Meyer refers to humor as "das Komische," meaning not only that which is humorous, funny, or comical, but also the strange, absurd, or grotesque. In German the three subcategories presented here are: "satirische," "närrische," and "sympathische Komik."

Defining Humor and Satire

15

reader's or spectator's behavior.29 Foolish humor includes silliness, foolishness, and absurdity. Here, humor may have no deeper aspirations than to amuse and entertain. Lastly, sympathetic humor is used to demonstrate sympathy with its object. Such conciliatory humor allows the reader (or spectator) to laugh with the target. These distinctions prove essential to analyzing post-unification Eastern German humor in a literary context since, as the following chapters show, some authors like Brussig, Loest, or Braun wield their words as weapons to attack the specific circumstances they observe(d) and live(d), while others like Schirmer, Rosenlöcher, or Ulbrich apparently employ humor mainly to foster a feeling of community among their fellow (Eastern) Germans. As Jefferson Chase articulates: "In some sense, humorous utterances always represent unstable moments that disrupt established patterns of significance. On the other hand, humor also partakes of stability."30 At the turn of the twentieth century Henri Bergson and Sigmund Freud expanded on prior notions of the comic by describing laughter's function in human psychological development and in social interactions. Bergson's theory confirms the Enlightenment view of laughter as verlachen or a form of edification. Bergson claimed that a person laughs when he sees another person appear "mechanical" or "absent-minded" instead of "elastic," meaning fully self-aware and able to act with agility in any circumstance.31 Bergson perceived laughter as serving the conservative social function of censuring people's behavior (Bergson, "Laughter" 7173). After someone has been laughed at for being clumsy, he will pay more attention to what he is doing. This notion of laughter or verlachen as a potential behavioral corrective is applied in quite diverse ways in Eastern German satirical texts. Authors like Schirmer and Rosenlöcher, who grant their narrators self-irony, have these narrators incite laughter at themselves and thus express this laughter less as a (self-)corrective than as a coping mechanism, also for their readers. Brussig and Hensel cleverly satirize the GDR past, encouraging readers to ridicule their exaggerated male protagonists in order to direct attention toward a particular, post-Wende _____________ 29

30 31

GDR scholar Peter Nelken called satire "eine Form der gesellschaftlichen Bestrafung für den Menschen," which "bei der Erziehung des Menschen von unschätzbarer Bedeutung ist." See Nelken "Die Satire – Waffe der sozialistischen Erziehung: Ein Diskussionsbeitrag," Einheit 3 (1962): 102-113, 111. Jefferson S. Chase, Inciting Laughter: The Development of "Jewish Humor" in Nineteenth Century German Culture (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 2000) 8. Henri Bergson, "Laughter," from Comedy: An Essay [by] George Meredith and Laughter [by] Henri Bergson, ed. Wylie Sypher (Garden City, NY: Doubleday Anchor, 1956) 66-73. Bergson's Le rire was originally published in 1900 by F. Alcan in Paris.

16

Introduction

media-hyped stereotype of the GDR ideologue.32 Although they clearly reject their ideologue protagonists, Brussig and Hensel imply that the public obsession with such types is also not a healthy psychological reaction to the Wende, and that similar types can also exist in western societies. As Chase points out, Bergson's conclusions are diametrically opposed to those of Sigmund Freud, who argued that laughter functions as a source of release and pleasure for its producer and her audience. Freud analyzed language as a source of "Witz" (wit or jokes), and established its (wit's or jokes') relationship to the unconscious. He believed that the fewer inhibitions a person has, the more she should be able to enjoy humor.33 Furthermore, a joke-teller (or humorist): [b]y expressing psychic content otherwise in need of repression […] is able to release his or her audience from the need for repression and therefore provide them with a moment of pleasure. The upshot of what Freud terms humor's "social procedure" (sozialer Vorgang) is covert individual rebellion against collective constraint, precisely the opposite of what it is for Bergson. (Chase 9)

While early Enlightenment scholars like Johann Christoph Gottsched34 and the more recent Bergson propose theories of laughter as a form of social control akin to satire, Freud's theory of laughter as producing pleasure in the audience, by contrast, fits into the sympathetic category. Approximately half the narrators/protagonists in post-unification satires fall into the category of those the reader laughs at and half into the category with which the reader sympathizes. Nearly all negative characters possess a few sympathetic traits, however, while the positive figures are hardly morally perfect. This dichotomy suggests that Eastern German satirical approaches have moved away from the socialist realist demand for black and white distinctions between "bad" and "good" characters, the negative characters existing solely to be rejected, and the "positive heroes" to be emulated. Despite their complexities, these new characters were still _____________ 32

33 34

Examples of media hype surrounding the postwall Stasi debates and criminal trials can be found in Dokumentation zum Staatssicherheitsdienst der ehemaligen DDR in 6 Teilen (I-VI). 1. November 1989 – 31. Oktober 1990, Part I, ed. Peter Eisenfeld and Günther Buch (Berlin: Gesamtdeutsches Institut Bundesanstalt für Gesamtdeutsche Aufgaben, 1990). For an interpretation of Brussig's particular strategies in Helden wie wir to manipulate this media material and thereby attract public attention to his "deformed" Stasi protagonist Klaus Uhltzscht, see Kristie Foell and Jill Twark, "Bekenntnisse des Stasi-Hochstaplers Klaus Uhlzscht: Thomas Brussig's Comical and Controversial Helden wie wir," German Writers and the Politics of Culture: Dealing with the Stasi, eds. Paul Cooke and Andrew Plowman (Houndmills, Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003) 173-194. Sigmund Freud, Der Witz und seine Beziehung zum Unbewussten/Der Humor (Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer, 1992) 151 and 162-64. Johann Christoph Gottsched, Versuch einer Critischen Dichtkunst (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1977, orig. 1751) 643.

The Question of Utopia in Eastern German Satire

17

developed out of, and perpetuate, a series of postwall stereotypes about Eastern and Western Germans. Because of their powerful impact on identity construction, I discuss these stereotypes at great length in my individual analyses and in the Conclusion.

The Question of Utopia in Eastern German Satire The traditional view of satire assumes that it possesses a utopian vision as counterpart to its satirical negation of real-world ills.35 This utopia need not mean a perfect society, but rather the implied opposite of, or at least something different from, the satirically described circumstances.36 In the late twentieth century, new insights from the interdisciplinary fields of cultural studies, feminist theory, and discourse analysis, as well as other social sciences, have expanded previous definitions of satire and humor to encompass an ever-broader range of theories. These revised, more open theoretical discussions reject earlier definitions for being too narrow or one-sided, and no longer cling to the idea that satirists always seek to better society. Satire is not just "derisive reduction and rejection," but also "inquiry and provocation, play and display, anything from Menippean fantasy to learned anatomizing."37 In the 1970s an international discussion _____________ 35

36

37

Claßen discusses various scholars and their perspectives on the issue of utopia in satire (89). He quotes Helmut Arntzen and Walter Hinck as supporting the thesis that "Satire und Utopie gehören zusammen" (Hinck 17). See Helmut Arntzen, "Deutsche Satire im 20. Jahrhundert," in Herrmann Friedemann and Otto Mann, eds., Deutsche Literatur im 20. Jahrhundert, vol. 1 (Heidelberg: W. Rothe, 1961) 225 and Walter Hinck, "Einleitung. Die Komödie zwischen Satire und Utopie," Zur Komiktheorie und zur Geschichte der europäischen Komödie, Reinhold Grimm and Walter Hinck, eds. (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1982) 7-19. One literary topos often used in satirical works to connect satire directly to a utopian vision is the verkehrte Welt (world turned upside-down). In depicting a verkehrte Welt, satirists assert that the world could be a better place if only it were different from their critical descriptions. For a detailed discussion of the "verkehrte Welt" topos, as well as its ramifications for twentieth-century philosophy, see Claßen 9-11, as well as Hans-Georg Gadamer, "Die verkehrte Welt," Materialien zu Hegels "Phänomenologie des Geistes," eds. Hans Friedrich Fulda and Dieter Heinrich (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1973). Dustin Griffin, Satire: A Critical Reintroduction (Lexington, KY: UP of Kentucky, 1994) 4. "Menippean fantasy" refers to Menippean satire, which consists of verse integrated into a prose narrative whose contents combine crude realism and fantastic imagination. The genre derives its name from the wandering Greek philosopher Menippus from Gadara, Syria, who lived in the 3rd century B.C. and composed satires of a Cynic stamp. Although his writings were lost, in the 1st century B.C. the Roman author Varro imitated them and thus perpetuated the form. The best example of it is Seneca's Apocolocyntosis, whose title is a pun on "apotheosis." Chris Baldick defines Menippean satire as "a form of intellectually humorous work characterized by miscellaneous contents, displays of curious erudition, and comical discussions on philosophical topics. […] The humor in these works is more cheerfully intellectual and less aggressive than in those works which we would usually call

18

Introduction

emerged in which scholars argued whether a utopia is explicit in satirical negation, i.e., inextricably bound to it; merely implicit, in other words, not openly described in the text but rather left open for the reader/spectator to interpret on an individual level; or nonexistent (Claßen 9). Depending on each particular case, any of the three perspectives—the explicit, the implicit, and the nonexistent—are possible in a text. Moreover, a utopia must not be implied in satire: "If satire is inquiry and provocation, it bears directly on our real moral beliefs; insofar as it is display or play, perhaps it does not touch our everyday lives" (Griffin 13). Interpreting a statement made by Kenneth Burke that satire thrives in repressive political systems and "becomes arbitrary and effete" in free, democratic societies, Dustin Griffin states that under these freer circumstances, "the satirist is not so much a dedicated guerilla intent on overthrowing injustice as he is an impudent and daring mocker […], seeing how much he can get away with but not really believing that authority will be shaken" (140). When satire is reduced to a form of entertainment, it ceases to communicate a striving for higher ideals, despite its aggressive stance. Griffin's central argument, in fact, is that satire's ambiguity may sometimes render the detection of concrete ideals or utopias impossible. The following excerpt from my interview with Thomas Rosenlöcher ten years after the Wende exemplifies the struggle Eastern German authors had following unification, not only with imparting utopian ideals in their works, but also with the concept of utopia itself, which they realized even before unification to be an unachievable goal: Twark: Direkt vor der Wende haben Sie sich in den Verkauften Pflastersteinen beschwert: "Dieser fortlaufende Landeskummer macht provinziell. Das immergleiche Gejammer über Unfreundlichkeit und Verfall macht utopie- also kunstunfähig." Mir scheint dieser Satz immer noch aktuell. Würden Sie dies auch noch heute für gültig erklären? Rosenlöcher: Das ist kompliziert. Es verblüfft mich, wenn ich das heute wieder höre. Nur wer Utopien hat, kann Kunst machen, habe ich damals gemeint. Das meine ich gar nicht mehr ganz so. Ich bin schon wieder weit ein Schritt zurückgegangen, das merke ich gerade. Für mich war das damals eine Voraussetzung, dass ich eine andere Gesellschaft will, dann kann ich schreiben. Das meine ich immer noch ein bisschen. Aber es ist nicht mehr so eine unbedingte Voraussetzung für die Kunst [...]. Twark: Es gibt aber auch Künstler, die völlig ohne Utopie schreiben. Rosenlöcher: Für mich war das damals [in der DDR] ein absolutes Muss. Das war so. Das hängt damit zusammen, dass wir in dem Moment eine Verheißung zu tun hatten damit, mit Utopieversprechen, und da lebte man ja immer das

_____________ satires, although it holds up contemporary intellectual life to gentle ridicule" (Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms 132). Despite the Greek origins of Menippean satire, the Romans claim satire as we know it today to have been their invention. Quintilian once stated: "Satura quidem tota nostra est."

The Question of Utopia in Eastern German Satire

19

Gegenteil. Und dass man so damit konfrontiert wird, dass man das eigentlich will, was gesagt wird. Für mich war dann Utopie einfach, dass ich etwas anderes will. Und ich denke heute, wenn es mir völlig verloren ginge, dann würde ich schon ärmer sein. Und ich mag mich auch dafür, dass ich das wollte und dachte. Aber nun werde ich älter, und ich sehe schon, dass man, wenn man genau hinschaut, etwas von der eigenen Existenz 'reinzufangen, ist auch schon sehr viel. Twark: Was für Utopien haben Sie noch? Rosenlöcher: Das lässt sich nicht mehr so sagen. Twark: Einfach Freundschaft oder das Miteinander, zum Beispiel? Rosenlöcher: Ich meine immer noch, zum Beispiel, dass das Überleben der Menschheit eine schöne Utopie ist. Und dass das eigentlich ein überschreitendes Handeln erfordern würde. Und nicht das angepasste Handeln zu machen, was sich gerade so anbietet, was opportun ist, sondern schon das überschreitende Handeln. Nicht, dass wir eine tolle Gesellschaft bekommen, sondern dass wir überhaupt überleben. Das ist insofern für mich nicht weg, denn ich denke für mich immer noch, dass es Leute geben muss, die dieses überschreitende Handeln einfordern. Und wenn das völlig verschwindet, sind wir dann wirklich verloren. Wenn wir nicht mal das Geringste machen. Aber der Glauben an die große Gesellschaft der Gerechtigkeit, der ist weg. Trotzdem habe ich damals auch gedacht, diese Gesellschaft gibt es nicht, aber ich habe nur gedacht, dass man sie trotzdem wollen sollte. (Appendix 3, 345)

Rosenlöcher's adherence to a utopian ideal in his works, albeit an ideal that has shifted from its focus on the specific socialist project in the GDR to that of a less ideologically narrow, global humanist utopia, which he verbalized only after being pressed in this interview, resembles the views other Eastern German authors have expressed. When Bernd Schirmer was asked about his utopian motives in the 1994 novel Cahlenberg, which depicts the unsuccessful attempt of a group of citizens to establish a small-scale commune in an isolated region of the GDR, Schirmer stated succinctly,"[a]uch wenn eine Utopie scheitert, hören Utopien und das Bedürfnis nach ihnen nicht auf" (Appendix 1, 318). Matthias Biskupek, taking the question more personally, describes his utopian vision as "[d]ie Suche nach mehr Harmonie, nach Freundlichkeit. Ich will eigentlich, daß die Leute freundlich miteinander sind" (Appendix 2, 336). In regards to his novel Der Quotensachse, however, he provides a quite different perspective: In dem Quotensachsen, denke ich schon, steckt eine Utopie. Wenn zum Schluß alle Leute aufstehen und das Leben, was er bis dahin erzählt hat, der gute Mario Claudius Zwintscher, auf einmal ganz anders erzählt, steht schon der Wunsch dahinter, daß das, was wir erlebt haben, vielleicht doch anders sein könnte. Ich glaube schon, das ist eine Utopie. (Appendix 2, 336)

Here it is interesting to observe how Biskupek applies the word "Utopie" to what others might call "Ostalgie." He proposes that by taking a more positive view of their pasts, Eastern Germans can improve the quality of their lives in the present.

20

Introduction

While these and other Eastern German authors may no longer strive to better society as a whole in the context of a sweeping, utopian project, all the literary satires treated here explicitly or implicitly critique social injustices or individual failings and thus impart humanist ideals. These ideals resemble Rosenlöcher's goal of human survival despite adversity, social turmoil, or environmental destruction, and can be concretized by researching the writings of philosophers and poets to whom the authors directly and indirectly allude in their texts. Where they can be detected, indirect allusions to utopian ideals often take the form of fantastical symbols or characters who themselves embody survival or social change. Klaus Ultzscht's impossibly enlarged penis becomes a confidenceinspiring, symbolic weapon that enables him to open the Berlin Wall in Brussig's Helden wie wir, and the ejaculatory, apocalyptic volcanic eruption in Hensel's Gipshut represents the symbolic cleansing and renewing of what Hensel sees as a morally suspect unified Germany. More explicit allusions to utopian philosophies can be found in the form of intertextual references that range from verbatim quotes to stylistic parodies. Because satirical literature in the GDR was perceived to be a highly serious form of art, bearing the responsibility of raising citizens' socialist consciousness, most GDR satirists, even those opposed to the stagnant regime, used satire attempting to further an idealized, socialist cause. Because of this fact, one valuable question to pose in an analysis of Eastern German literature in a post-unification context is whether or not this new literature perpetuates the highly prescriptive GDR satirical tradition with its more or less explicit satirical negation.38 In post-Wende Eastern German texts, satire is both playfully mocking and destructive; it conveys resignation alongside hope for a better world. In interpreting these texts, my approach is to consider each individually, elucidating the strategies of humor and satire which allow for the most accurate interpretation of how and to what purposes each author adopts these modes. Although it is crucial to understand these ten satirical texts in their sociohistorical context, providing a separate, detailed history of the events surrounding German unification here would be superfluous, because innumerable scholarly books and articles on this subject already exist.39 Consequently, the research, analyses, and conclusions here focus on the way these events have been depicted in a fictional frame. Since the texts do address a broad panorama of experiences emerging from the GDR _____________ 38

39

Though satirists openly opposed to the GDR regime were forced to camouflage their satirical critiques in order to get their texts past censors, since most of these satirists' readers saw through this camouflage without difficulty, most GDR satire was actually of the explicit kind. See section 2.4, "Postwar and Postwall German History," in the bibliography.

Irony, Parody, the Grotesque, and the Absurd

21

and/or postwall societal transformations in Eastern Germany, however, I have provided historical explanations regarding the GDR or post-1989 Germany where necessary to enhance the understanding of each text.

Irony, Parody, the Grotesque, and the Absurd Along with puns and other wordplays, exaggeration, typical characters, and stereotypes, satirists often rely on the rhetorical devices of irony, parody, the grotesque, the absurd, and scatology. Irony is produced when the intended meaning of a statement is concealed or contradicted by the literal meaning of the words. Linda Hutcheon calls irony both semantic and evaluative, distinguishing two agents in the making of irony, the ironist, who "transmits both information and evaluative attitude other than what is explicitly presented, and the interpreter, who infers "meaning in addition to and different from what is stated, together with an attitude toward both the said and the unsaid."40 Like satire, irony is a central device for constituting distinctive levels of complexity and ambiguity. Irony can also foster a sense of community among groups of people who "get the joke." When irony becomes so ambiguous as to be open to virtually limitless interpretations, it becomes what Wayne C. Booth calls "unstable irony."41 Most irony in Eastern German texts is stable and thus will be recognized easily by anyone who has lived in East(ern) Germany. Even those well versed in GDR and unification history may not catch all hidden meanings, attitudes, or intertextual references, however. Those readers unfamiliar with the GDR or unification's effects, of course, will only be able to recognize and comprehend this irony if it is pointed out and interpreted. For this reason, I aim my interpretations toward all readers, whether they are familiar with East(ern) German society or not. Hutcheon is also helpful in the search for an applicable definition of parody, a device whereby an author mimics the style of another literary work, exaggerating it in order to mock the stylistic habits of a targeted author or school of theory.42 Her definition allows not only for textual reproductions that intend to produce "ridiculing laughter," but also for "imitation characterized by ironic inversion, not always at the expense of the parodied text" (Hutcheon, Parody 6). Most relevant to Eastern German _____________ 40 41 42

Irony's Edge (London: Routledge, 1995) 11. Italics and bolding are Hutcheon's. A Rhetoric of Irony (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1974) 240-241. Booth classifies all kinds of irony, dividing it into "dramatic," "stable," and "unstable" forms, and breaking "stable" and "unstable" into "overt," "covert," "local," and "infinite" (see chart p. 245 with definitions). A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms, 2nd ed. (New York: Methuen, 1986). The concise definition of parody here can be found in Baldick, 161-162.

22

Introduction

texts is Hutcheon's recognition that parody can be a means for an author to come to terms with his or her cultural past while maintaining a tangible connection to this past. Such artists' "double-voiced parodic forms play on the tensions created by this historical awareness. They signal less an acknowledgement of the 'inadequacy of the definable forms' of their predecessors (Martin 1980, 666) than their own desire to 'refunction' those forms to their own needs" (Hutcheon, Parody 4). Although Hutcheon's definition of parody appears to be incompatible with satire as a literary mode that focuses on contemporaneous events, one must distinguish between the form and the content of a text. Authors can imitate an earlier textual structure, for example, an archaic genre like the chivalric romance, and update the text's content to comment on a contemporary occurrence. Cervantes's Don Quixote is perhaps the most famous example of this practice. In referring to past authors by parodying their works, authors can expand the meaning of their more topical texts by emphasizing the circularity or repetitiveness of history. Thomas Rosenlöcher and Volker Braun parody previous literary models in this way to comment on post-Wende Germany. Rosenlöcher overwrites both Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's late eighteenth-century Harz mountain poem and Heinrich Heine's from the early nineteenth century in order to highlight the perpetual political and mental divisions in Germany. Braun draws on Cervantes's Don Quixote to emphasize the paradoxical, backward views of his opportunist figure, along with the fruitlessness of this figure's eternal quest for "experience." Neither author parodies the style of his forebear in order to mock him43; both call the reader's attention to these forebears' earlier works in order to broaden the scope of the commentary in their own texts and enable a coming-to-terms with the present. Three further devices satirists frequently deploy are the grotesque, the absurd, and the scatological (referring specifically to bodily functions and fluids). These devices are integrated into a text to produce similar effects: to shock, disgust, or amuse the reader with a distorted view of reality or a hyper-realistic one. The grotesque is characterized by fantastical distortion or extreme exaggeration, and may appear sinister when physical objects blend with live creatures44 as in a Hieronymus Bosch or Salvador Dali painting. The absurd, by comparison, may use discontinuities of speech or action to highlight the general senselessness of life, a condition which _____________ 43

44

Although Rosenlöcher attacks Goethe for being a conservative, bourgeois author, it is not Goethe's writing style that he mocks, but rather his political views, which he equates with those of a Western German Mercedes driver and Apotheker. See my treatment of Rosenlöcher's Harzreise in Chapter 1 for further elaboration of this metaphor. Wolfgang Kayser, The Grotesque in Art and Literature, trans. Ulrich Weisstein (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1966, orig. German edition 1957) 21.

Irony, Parody, the Grotesque, and the Absurd

23

human agency cannot change. While scholars generally draw a line between the grotesque and the absurd, asserting that the literary grotesque is applied to criticize societal failings, and that the absurd emphasizes the senselessness and incorrigible state of human existence, this is not always the case.45 Mikhail Bakhtin, for example, in his analysis of Rabelais's use of the grotesque in Gargantua and Pantagruel, concludes that it is "inadmissible to reduce to mere satire the entire substance of the grotesque image."46 Central to his argument is that the "satirical exaggeration of the negative" can only account for the quantitative, but not the qualitative aspects of any grotesque depiction. In Rabelais's and other authors' grotesque images of the body there exist both positive and negative interpretive possibilities. While the images themselves may, on the surface, appear ugly, horrific, or disgusting, in uniting the human body with physical objects belonging to the external world, Bakhtin avers, they can "uncrown" powerful institutions such as the Church and thereby "renew" them, restoring the lost duality of human beings and the world (Bakhtin, Rabelais 312, 324-5). And in Language as Aggression: Studies in the Postwar Drama Linda M. Hill counters the standard definition of the absurd as senseless or futile by arguing that the absurd can express satirical critiques.47 Most applicable to Volker Braun's Wendehals and Kerstin Hensel's Gipshut, however, is Lyn Marven's argument that Eastern Bloc citizens experienced both mental and physical trauma under socialism, which can erupt in their texts in the form of out-of-control bodies, disjointed language, and/or stories that break conventional narrative laws.48 While many Eastern German satirists spice up their texts with grotesque and scatological images to revel in their new, post-unification freedom and to entertain their readers, Braun and Hensel use the grotesque mode pointedly to reflect the trauma inscribed on their protagonists' bodies before and during the unification process.49 _____________ 45

46 47 48 49

See Lee Byron Jennings, "The Ludicrous Demon: Aspects of the Grotesque in German Post-Romantic Prose," Modern Philology 71 (1963): 1-214, 9. In Das Groteske und das Absurde im modernen Theater Arnold Heidsieck summarizes Jennings's definition thus: "Nicht eine Laune der Natur gilt uns grotesk, sondern solche Entstellung, die das Schreckliche und Lächerliche auf die Spitze, zum unerträglichen Widerspruch treibt: die produzierte Entstellung des Menschen, die von Menschen verübte Unmenschlichkeit" (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1969) 17. Martin Esslin's standard definition of the absurd can be found in The Theatre of the Absurd, 3rd ed. (London: Methuen, 2001) 425. Rabelais and His World, trans. Hélène Iswolsky (Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1984) 307. Bonn: Bouvier, 1976, 11. For more on Hill's argument, see the section in Chapter 4 entitled "Schaber's Grotesque and Absurd Traumatized Body" on Volker Braun's Der Wendehals. Body and Narrative in Contemporary Literatures in German (Oxford, UK: Clarendon, 2005) 10, 26-27. Thomas Brussig inscribes his protagonist's traumatic GDR experiences on his body in a similar, grotesque manner in Helden wie wir. I treat his novel separately, however, because it belongs more broadly within the picaresque tradition, which often relies on the grotesque.

24

Introduction

Although some German authors have treated the GDR or unification with means that can be interpreted best by applying Bakhtin's concept of the "carnivalesque,"50 I reject this theory as an overarching theme in the present analyses. The "carnivalesque" implies a group or collective experience, described as "folk merriment" or "feasts," and all the texts in this study depict a first-person narrator or protagonists who, though they may speak of or experience group interaction, always dominate the narrative point-of-view. These figures do not give the impression that their life experiences as a whole are group ones as Bakhtin describes them (Rabelais 218-9). The euphoria expressed at the time the Berlin Wall was opened comes closer in my view to a true carnivalesque event. These texts focus either on the sobering times after this euphoria had passed or on life in the GDR—which perhaps had its carnivalesque moments during mass cultural events like rock concerts or parades—but in general was a rigidly hierarchical regime. While the above definitions apply to my general use of the terms humor, satire, irony, and so forth, additional theoretical concepts are integrated into each chapter where pertinent; for example, the picaresque is defined in Chapter 2 as a prelude to my explication of the three picaresque texts.51 Examining commonalities and differences among a wide range of Eastern German texts, I tie together immediate fictional reactions to the turbulent historical events of 1989 and the early 1990s in order to provide an in-depth overview of this contemporary literary trend. In what follows, I demonstrate how ten representative novels, as well as humor and satire more generally, are symptomatic literary responses to the Wende. By contributing to the wider German discourse of criticism, they assisted Eastern Germans to develop a strong sense of identity within and yet apart from the broader German context.

_____________ 50

51

Markus Symmank assesses the functions of the carnivalesque in late twentieth-century texts by Wolfgang Hilbig, Stephan Krawczyk, Katja Lange-Müller, Ingo Schulze, and Stefan Schütz. Regarding Schulze's Simple Storys, he concludes that it appears only "in geringerem Maße und eher verstreut als noch in dem Erzählungsband 33 Augenblicke des Glücks" and that it is confined to the first two of its 29 chapters (Karnevaleske Konfigurationen in der deutschen Gegenwartsliteratur, Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2002, 73). For further reference see section 6, "General Secondary Literature on Satire and Related Modes" in the bibliography.

Chapter 1 The Comic Survivor: Self-Irony and Defensiveness in the Post-Wende Transition Thomas Rosenlöcher's Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern. Harzreise, Bernd Schirmer's Schlehweins Giraffe, and Jens Sparschuh's Der Zimmerspringbrunnen Consider how life would change if your home country suddenly disappeared. What if your job became obsolete overnight and all the consumer products you buy were suddenly replaced with new ones? Would you have the courage to adopt a giraffe from a bankrupt zoo? The protagonists in Thomas Rosenlöcher's Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern. Harzreise, Bernd Schirmer's Schlehweins Giraffe, and Jens Sparschuh's Der Zimmerspringbrunnen all undergo trials like these. Each narrator's experiences indicate the types of difficulties East Germans had in adjusting to the fall of the Berlin Wall. One main cause of these hardships was the clash of East and West German cultures, made more abrasive by the fact that West Germany dominated the unification process. Up to this point, the Federal Republic had not only been a foreign country, but also an ideological archenemy. Forcing these two groups with extremely different socialized behaviors and ideologies to interact closely was bound to produce friction and incongruity. These unavoidable conflicts lend themselves to humorous jests and aggressive satirical barbs of the kind Rosenlöcher, Schirmer, and Sparschuh display in having their narrators attempt to cope with and to strike back at what appears to them to be new and obscure Western power structures that are quickly replacing old, familiar ones. Because these texts were composed so soon after the wall fell (1990-1995), the humorous and satirical strategies the authors employ to depict their protagonists' experiences do not reflect a sovereign mastery of the subject as, for example, Günter Grass (Die Blechtrommel 1959) or Edgar Hilsenrath (Der Nazi und der Friseur 1971) do in their World War II satires; rather, they convey a stupefaction or helplessness as to how to convey unification experiences in words. Thus their approach often appears more defensive than aggressive. Like

26

Chapter 1

Cervantes's epigonal figure Don Quixote, their protagonists experience a world that appears to have been turned upside down, and their actions, thoughts, and speech appear anachronistic, occasionally paranoid— definitely comical. Whereas a healthy dose of self-irony helps Rosenlöcher's and Schirmer's protagonists maintain their optimism and eventually come to terms with the altered circumstances, Sparschuh's narrator, taking his new sales profession too seriously, gradually loses touch with reality and in the end faces a bleak, uncertain future. Despite their differences, the three narrators resemble each other in their bumbling fashion of dealing with unification's effects, their condemnatory attitudes toward Western German treatment of Eastern Germans, and their ironic, self-conscious perspective on the GDR. Engaging comical, forty-something male narrators who struggle to adapt to recent changes, Rosenlöcher, Schirmer, and Sparschuh supply a distinct, fictional lens through which unification is viewed. Tanja Nause refers to their particular, first-person narrative perspective as "inszenierte Naivität" or the "naïve gaze," a technique that simplifies or reduces reallife complexities, produces alienation (Verfremdung) because of this distortion, and, like epic humor, sets up a contrast between the narrated story and how it is narrated (as well as a perspectival difference between the text and the reader) (Nause, Inszenierung 32-33). She emphasizes that this technique serves as a means of social criticism, having its origins in a common experience of loss and the need to respond to this loss critically (12-13). With regard to narrators like those here, however, I choose to focus on the particular coping strategies of self-irony (viewing one's fate as inherently ironic or humorous, or inciting laughter at or with oneself) and of defensive rhetoric as critical and identity-building mechanisms. The immediate postwall time and space in which these narrators live is what anthropologists Arnold Van Gennep and Victor Turner call "liminal"; that is, "betwixt and between successive lodgments in jural political systems."1 Turner illustrates the creative, restructuring potential of this state: [T]he possibility exists [in the liminal] of standing aside not only from one's own social position but from all social positions and of formulating a potentially unlimited series of alternative social arrangements. […] Without liminality, program might indeed determine performance. But given liminality, prestigious programs can be undermined and multiple alternative programs may be generated. (Turner, Dramas 14-5)

_____________ 1

Turner, Dramas, Fields, and Metaphors: Symbolic Action in Human Society (Ithaca, NY: Cornell UP, 1974) 13. Van Gennep coined the term "liminal" (Latin for "threshold") in 1909 to refer to the second of three life stages in The Rites of Passage (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1960). Applied initially only to transitions in primitive, tribal relations, as the term gained currency, coming to designate any rite of passage from one social state and status to another, Turner recognized its potential for literary production and criticism (Dramas 14-5).

Thomas Rosenlöcher's Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern. Harzreise

27

Within their collective liminal space before Western structures solidified in the East, Rosenlöcher, Schirmer, and Sparschuh fashioned narrators who pass between cultures and societies, deconstructing past and present, East and West, the personal and the political. From this liminal vantage point, acutely perceived because they have lost the professions on which they had formerly constructed their identities (Rosenlöcher's narrator suffers from writer's block, Schirmer's is unemployed, and Sparschuh's, also initially unemployed, fails to gain satisfaction from his new job), these protagonists ponder the meaning of their past and present lives and construct new realities for themselves by generating and calling attention to a new, post-Wende language. This language consists of wordplays, word menageries, neologisms, and figures of speech. After figuratively tearing their world apart, they conclude that utopia is not found in any particular societal structure, but rather is based on the ability to express creativity and to achieve success or failure in interpersonal relationships. Explicating these texts in their historical context, I demonstrate how each author brandishes humor, satire, and self-irony as narrative strategies in the battle to assert an Eastern German identity in the face of circumstances which threaten to erode not only the narrator's former way of life, but also his self-esteem and any positive memories of the GDR. In this chapter, as in the following three, I first treat each text separately in chronological order—here and in Chapter 2 also in decreasing order of complexity—focusing on the humorous and satirical techniques each author deploys. Drawing connections between the texts, I show how the authors utilize diverse aesthetic means to accomplish similar political ends.

Thomas Rosenlöcher's Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern. Harzreise In Rosenlöcher's twentieth-century Harzreise the narrator, an unnamed author from Dresden, takes a three-day hike in July 1990 through the Harz Mountains from the East German town of Quedlinburg to the West German Goslar "um wenigstens andeutungsweise wieder Gedichte schreiben zu können" (9).2 In many ways analogous to a religious pilgrimage, this journey affords the narrator a chance to observe and _____________ 2

Parts of this chapter were excerpted from Twark, "'Ko…Ko…Konolialismus,' said the giraffe: Humorous and Satirical Responses to German Unification," in Textual Responses to German Unification: Processing Historical and Social Change in Literature and Film, ed. Carol Anne Costabile-Heming, Rachel J. Halverson, and Kristie A. Foell (Berlin and New York: Walter de Gruyter, 2001) 151-169. Because Rosenlöcher's narrative takes place after the Wende but before official unification, I refer to each part of Germany here as "East" and "West."

28

Chapter 1

experience first-hand the differences between East and West Germany, to reconfigure his identity in his liminal environment, and thereby to relight his creative fire so that he can write poetry again. The first part of the title refers to the narrator's wish to rediscover walking by taking a hike, as well as his need to get used to a new culture by moving within it. His departure and arrival dates fatefully coincide with historical events that symbolically connect his experiences with Germany as a nation and point toward his journey as a quest to redefine his identity. He departs from his home in Dresden by train to Quedlinburg on July 1, 1990, the day the West and East German currency union took place, and arrives in Goslar on the third of July, the day the West German national soccer team wins the World Cup. With the second part of the title, "Harzreise," Rosenlöcher connects his late twentieth-century travelogue of a journey over the Harz Mountains with Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's poem "Harzreise im Winter," based on a trip he took in Winter 1777 from Weimar to Goslar, and Heinrich Heine's famous travelogue, Die Harzreise (1826), documenting a hike Heine took in Autumn 1824 from Göttingen to Weimar and Jena.3 Rosenlöcher consciously selects Goethe's and Heine's texts to overwrite and thus, in imitating them, to parody, as a way to find meaning, truth, and a sense of continuity within an unstable time. In the GDR, Goethe and Heine had been accorded a prominent position as representatives of the humanistic, German cultural heritage (das kulturelle Erbe), and thus GDR writers and readers were versed in recognizing allusions to their works. Canonical authors like Goethe and Heine influenced several GDR authors such as Erwin Strittmatter and Günter de Bruyn to produce a specific brand of GDR Heimatliteratur. Like these authors before him, Rosenlöcher expects his readers to catch his allusions. Following in Goethe and Heine's footsteps, Rosenlöcher describes a journey to the Harz Mountains as providing a rare opportunity for his wanderer to contemplate the beauty of nature and to reflect on a past and present life, as well as future plans. While Heine's travelogue also attacks the author's Göttingen university professors for their philistinism and pedantry, and other Germans in general for their hypocrisy, selfsatisfaction, and overt nationalism, Rosenlöcher specifically targets capitalist marketing strategies, bourgeois consumerism, political _____________ 3

See Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, "Harzreise im Winter," Sämtliche Werke nach Epochen seines Schaffens, vol. 2.1, ed. Hartmut Reinhardt (München: Hanser, 1987) 37-41, 41 and Heinrich Heine, Die Harzreise, in Sämtliche Werke, vol. 5, ed. Hans Kaufmann (München: Kindler, 1964) 13. For further comparisons of Rosenlöcher's Harzreise with Heine's and Goethe's works see Wilfried Grauert, "Harzreise im Sommer (mit Heine im Herzen) oder Auf der Suche nach einer neuen (Autor-) Identität" in Weimarer Beiträge 1 (1994): 103-118 and Irene Schülert, "Goethe, Heine und...Rosenlöcher: Die Harzreise, durch die Mühen der Berge, beschrieben von Thomas Rosenlöcher," die tageszeitung 25 July 1992, 16.

Thomas Rosenlöcher's Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern. Harzreise

29

conservatism, and post-industrial environmental destruction. The idyllic picture Heine paints of the Harz Mountains in the early nineteenth century contrasts blatantly with Rosenlöcher's wanderer's tortuous journey. Plagued by the noise and exhaust of automobiles whenever he is forced to walk along the road, he is perpetually indignant. The cars are "vorüberrollende Mörder" and "giftige Hütten," which come "in endloser Reihe gefahren, um auch noch den letzten Fußgänger auszurotten" (57). The footpath he walks on becomes "[d]ie Fußgängerverteidigungslinie" (59).4 The people he meets also treat him rudely, not respecting him because of his shabby appearance and awkward behavior. After suffering through several trials on his hike, Rosenlöcher begins to attack Goethe's conservatism and to defend Marx's utopian, humanist ideals, aligning himself politically with Heine. In repeating Goethe's name throughout the text and completely avoiding Heine's, Rosenlöcher also makes Goethe into an object of satire, appearing to treat Heine with more respect. Not just politically, but also to some extent thematically and stylistically, his text picks up where Heine's left off nearly two centuries earlier. Like Heine, Rosenlöcher calls his text a "Fragment": "Du kannst machen, was du willst, die Harzreise bleibt Fragment" (88). Although Rosenlöcher's political situation is more turbulent than Heine's was in the 1820s, and his language is denser and more playful, some of the humorous and satirical strategies the two authors employ to attack societal structures and individuals are similar. Both produce humor by displaying an ironic superiority in their descriptions of people they find distasteful or annoying. They expose as ridiculous those who try too hard to be someone they are not, those who fit too well into a stereotype, or those obsessed with any idée fixe.5 A further technique the two authors share is their ability to turn phrases so cleverly that the illogical, absurdly comical results of their efforts appear to make sense.6 Such ridiculous _____________ 4

5

6

Using this military metaphor Rosenlöcher defends his narrator's position with a boundary that invokes the recently eliminated GDR border. Rosenlöcher highlights the alienation produced by industrialization with metaphors that invoke Karl Marx's arguments. The "endless rows" of cars he describes, for example, resemble commodities on an assembly line and indicate an inability to approach, or have direct contact with, other human beings. Heine describes a young merchant he meets in Klaustal thus: "Er sah aus wie ein Affe, der eine rote Jacke angezogen hat und nun zu sich selber sagt: Kleider machen Leute" (Heine, Harzreise 24). In Treseburg Rosenlöcher observes: "Als ich aus dem Wald heraustrat, sah mir der Tankwart entgegen, als tränke er täglich Benzin. Der Ort hieß Treseburg, an einigen Ferienheimen stand plötzlich "Gepflegte Speisen" geschrieben. Und selbst der Heimleiter versuchte, sein graues Waffenkammergesicht in menschlichere Falten zu legen und 'Bitte schön' zu sagen" (46). In response to an ignorant Goslar burgher who insists that everything in the natural world is purposeful and useful and who claims that the trees are green because green is good for the eyes, Heine responds: "Ich gab ihm recht und fügte hinzu, daß Gott das Rindvieh

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turns of phrase are also a narrative tactic they invoke to wink slyly at their readers, letting them in on the joke and thus including them in the community of those "in the know." Sensing their political powerlessness they manipulate language as a means to assert their linguistic power, despite its merely figurative or aesthetic effects. Where the two wanderers differ is in the flexibility with which they approach each new encounter. While Heine "sich mit einer Mobilität ohnegleichen durch eine Vielzahl von Rollen und Tonlagen bewegt, ohne sich je auf eine einzelne von ihnen fixieren zu lassen," Rosenlöcher's traveler maintains the same, dubious, ironic, and (self-)castigating tone throughout his text.7 Only at the very end does he regain his optimism— despite prior biting critiques of West German behavior and attitudes— welcoming unification for bringing greater freedom and higher quality consumer goods. One significant contrast between Rosenlöcher's text and Goethe's and Heine's is the fact that Rosenlöcher's wanderer is much older than Goethe and Heine were when they made their journeys. In winter 1777 Goethe was 27 years old, and in fall 1824 Heine was 26. Rosenlöcher's wanderer is "schon [...] über vierzig und vor lauter Aufstehn und Schlafengehn um den Bart herum ein wenig grau geworden" (9). His age makes it difficult for him to undertake his hike not only because of his poor physical condition, but also because of the prejudice he expects other people to have against an adult who suddenly heads off to the woods: "Überhaupt hatte es etwas Seltsames, wenn ein erwachsener Mensch plötzlich in den Wald wollte" (9). His age, an additional hurdle in his quest to traverse the mountains on foot, contributes to the comedy of trials he must endure. Rosenlöcher alludes to these two earlier texts to add layers of meaning from the past to his own, more recent text, parodying them in order to _____________

7

erschaffen, weil Fleischsuppen den Menschen stärken, daß er die Esel erschaffen, damit sie den Menschen zu Vergleichungen dienen können, und daß er den Menschen selbst erschaffen, damit er Fleischsuppen essen und kein Esel sein soll." Of course, the burgher finds Heine clever and is "entzückt, einen Gleichgesinnten gefunden zu haben," not realizing that Heine has just made a fool of him (Heine, Harzreise 39). Similarly, Rosenlöcher pokes fun at the eighteenth-century German poet Klopstock for being pretentious about his poetry and for having written the Messias, "ein gänzlich unlesbares, aber bedeutendes Werk" (19). Through this Klopstock insult, Rosenlöcher exacts revenge on pretentious people who claim to read unreadable works of literature just to appear wellread: "Nur das, was keiner liest, loben alle, weil keiner zugeben darf, daß das, was alle loben, keiner gelesen hat. Wo aber keiner liest, kann der, der auch nicht liest, nur das Unlesbare noch gründlich gelesen haben" (19). With such witty formulations both authors demonstrate their verbal superiority over their adversaries—a traditional satirical tactic to deflate one's opponents. Norbert Altenhofer, Harzreise in die Zeit. Zum Funktionszusammenhang von Traum, Witz und Zensur in Heines früher Prosa (Düsseldorf: Heinrich Heine-Gesellschaft, 1972) 8.

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demonstrate how "change entails continuity" and to offer "a model for the process of transfer and reorganization of that past."8 By referring to both Goethe and Heine, Rosenlöcher highlights the perpetual political and mental divisions within Germany. At the time Goethe wrote his "Harzreise," Germany was divided into nearly 300 distinct principalities. By the time Heine wrote his Harzreise, Napoleon had reduced these divisions to thirty, but the first unification of Germany did not occur until 1871.9 Rosenlöcher demonstrates that even though the 1945 division of Germany into two parts has now been overcome, psychological and cultural divisions remain. Placing his text within this previous "Harzreise" tradition, Rosenlöcher implies that his own text is simultaneously serious and satirical, apolitical and political. Probing Rosenlöcher's text within the context of its postwall, preunification setting, in the following sections I demonstrate how Rosenlöcher uses humor and satire to highlight the difficulties his traveler and other East Germans have in adapting to the transition from "socialism" to "capitalism." In the second section I discuss the man's hike as a mock spiritual pilgrimage to reconfigure his identity. The third section features an analysis of the fictional author's self-defensive strategies, including metaphors and metonymies, that oppose West German accusations of East German laziness and earlier complicity with an oppressive dictatorship. The preceding themes recur in his dreams, also interpreted below, which serve as windows to his feelings toward his postWende context and toward the wife he leaves at home. The final section treats his ambivalent relationship to the GDR, which fluctuates from wistful nostalgia, to harsh condemnation, to a jubilant embracing of West German freedoms and commodities. The Hapless Wanderer as East German Anachronism The wanderer's comical, liminal state is reflected most overtly in his clumsy behavior. Throughout his journey it is not just his age but also his inexperience with the conventions of free market societies and the fact that he is walking and not driving a car that lead him to view and to depict _____________ 8 9

Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms, 2nd ed. (New York: Methuen, 1986) 4. Heine writes of a mock political debate with a patriotic young man from Greifswald in the inn on top of the Brocken mountain: "Er war der Meinung, Deutschland müsse in dreiunddreißig Gauen geteilt werden. Ich hingegen behauptete, es müssten achtundvierzig sein, weil man alsdann ein systematischeres Handbuch über Deutschland schreiben könne und es doch notwendig sei, das Leben mit der Wissenschaft zu verbinden" (Harzreise 58).

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himself as an anachronism. His absent-mindedness, lack of coordination, and shabby appearance—long, shaggy hair and beard, unfashionable clothing—also identify him as an East German and produce a comic effect. At the hotel where he spends the first night, he has serious trouble ordering a beer because the selection is so broad and all varieties are new to him. The ungainly East German waitress does not ease the process: Unten in der Halle versuchte das Bedienungsmädchen, die sogenannte Marktwirtschaft gleich auf mich anzuwenden, indem sie, kaum daß ich mich hingesetzt hatte, donnernd auf mich zutrat und ernstlich zu lächeln versuchte. Nur war ihr Gesicht etwas grob und nur mehr von innen her schön, das heißt recht ungeeignet, jenes auf ihrer unreinen Haut auszutragen. [...] Dennoch begann sie, mir tapfer die neuen Biersorten herzuerzählen, wodurch es uns freilich erst recht nicht gelang, gemeinsam ein Bier zu bestellen. "Welches?" "Wie bitte?" "Was?" "Ach," sagte ich, "irgendeins." "Ja, das wird auch gern getrunken." Ratlos sahn wir uns an. "Bitte ein Bier", sagte ich. "Gern", sagte sie und trat mit gleichsam befreitem Getrampel in Richtung Theke ab, um nach einer Kehrtwende nochmals nach der gewünschten Sorte zu fragen und schließlich doch noch das falsche zu bringen, das sie mir beinah zärtlich über die Hosen goß. (29)

This scene is comical because the traveler's interpretation of the new "Marktwirtschaft" as being physically manifested in the positive attention and attractive smile of a waitress conflicts blatantly with this particular waitress's ugly face and lack of finesse. As an East German, she has similar difficulties as he in living up to the new economic system's expectations. Since her difficulties have as much to do with her appearance and inexperience as his, her figure evokes humor mixed with empathy rather than derision. The pair's resulting conversation—the otherwise simple ritual of ordering a beer—is also rendered unnecessarily complicated and thus comical by their inability to communicate properly. With scenes like this Rosenlöcher produces a vaudeville or cabaret style of comedy similar to that of Charlie Chaplin or the Marx Brothers. The fact that the hiker generally receives rude reactions from nearly everyone he encounters adds to his comical misery. Trying to pay for a meal at a Ferienheim on his second day, he accidentally pulls out an obsolete GDR hundred-mark bill depicting Karl Marx's long-haired, bearded image and is ridiculed by the East German recipients: "Schaut euch das an. Der Karl Marx hier will mir einen Karl-Marx andrehn!" (64). A further comical side of his character is his socialized paranoia in situations associated with the recently lifted, repressive police and military

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controls in the GDR. When a hotel clerk asks to see his identification card at check-in his first evening, a feeling of guilt wells up in him and he fears he will be told that the hotel is already full:10 Die alte Bangigkeit, als die Frau im Hotelbuch nachsah. Das automatische Schuldgefühl, als sie meinen Ausweis verlangte. Die jahrelang geübte Bereitschaft, sofort einzusehn, daß schon seit vierzig Jahren leider kein Zimmer frei sei. Um schließlich, schon im Abgehn, mit kleiner, fast piepsiger Stimme, vorsichtig zu bemerken, daß es gewiß auch in zwei bis drei Stunden völlig zwecklos wäre, nach einem Zimmer zu fragen. Denn wann je im Leben hier überhaupt? Ach, einmal Scheißstaat rufen. Wenigstens im Abgehn noch. Scheißstaat aus der Tiefe des Bauchs vorzubellen oder zu flüstern zumindest. Und dann ab ins Dunkel, bloß fort, daß sie mich hier, in der Nähe der Grenze, nicht noch verhafteten. (28)

The wanderer's reaction here highlights his liminal status. Although reason should convince him that now the GDR no longer exists in its original form, he should no longer fear GDR-style treatment, his ingrained, irrational fears continue to plague him. Despising what he consciously recognizes as irrational fears, he childishly rebells against the GDR for its totalitarianism by imagining himself uttering aloud the word "Scheißstaat." Demonstrating his comical cowardice, he then tempers his rebellious urge with the phrases "Wenigstens im Abgehn noch" and "zu flüstern zumindest." Although the traveler keeps this admonition to himself, in publishing the man's thoughts in this book, Rosenlöcher courageously expresses openly a criticism of the GDR's repressiveness which would have been impossible a mere few months earlier. In depicting the insulting reactions the man receives from East and West Germans and his repeated difficulties getting used to the new circumstances, Rosenlöcher convincingly portrays the rapid and complex cultural transformation which took place in East Germany after the Wall was opened. In this liminal situation a person's actions and experiences often appear comical. A similar scene occurs on the third day of his hike. Finding what he thinks is a border guard still at his post at the supposedly open border in his first attempt to cross over to the West, he exhibits an unnecessary and thus comical cowardice by turning around and heading back East: Vor einem Jahr fünf Schritte hier, und ich läge am Zaun. [. . .] Aus einem der Rechteckfenster zielte grinsend ein Kerl mit einem Stock auf mich. "Ich gehe hier nur spazieren," sagte ich, schon im Gehen. "Ich wollte gar nicht nach dem Westen," erklärte ich demonstrativ. Und entfernte mich möglichst gelassen, immer den Knüppel im Rücken. "Ich bin nämlich Schriftsteller, falls Sie hier wissen, was das bedeutet", erläuterte ich, endlich wieder im Osten, hinter dem rettenden Zaun. Doch meine Seele war bis an ihre Spitzen ergraut. (72)

_____________ 10

The name of the hotel at which he stays, "Zum wilden Jäger," bears ironic meaning when applied to the narrator. Although he physically resembles a "wild hunter," the way he acts is more like a "chaotic coward."

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This confrontation, like the hotel scene above, illustrates not only his comical, paranoid fear but also his irrepressible compulsion to defend himself. The self-defensive tactics he uses—initially pretending as if he had not wanted to cross the border in the first place, then invoking his status as a writer—are laughable because they once again cast him as an East German. His paranoia marks him as adhering to his past habits, even though he now lives in a new and vastly different present. By renouncing his initial desire to cross over to the West like one who is used to accepting defeat or at least the denial of his wishes, he discloses his GDR socialization. The evocation of his profession as a writer also appears silly and ineffectual. In general such paranoid confrontations appear comical because they are rationally and practically unnecessary. Since, in each situation, nothing truly tragic occurs, the reader laughs sympathetically at the wanderer's irrational fears and maladroit ways of dealing with them. The anthropologist Don Handelman writes that "[t]error and play are forceful modes of introducing uncertainty, and their affinities are undeniable."11 The above scenes, in which the fictional poet experiments or "plays" with new situations and experiences terror, effectively convey the uncertainties facing East Germans after the Wende. The Mock Harz Pilgrimage as the Quest for a New Identity Analogies can be drawn between Rosenlöcher's fictional, laborious journey over the Harz Mountains and a spiritual pilgrimage. That his wanderer takes the journey on foot, endures difficult trials, and undergoes an enlightening identity transformation on reaching its end, grants his journey the basic elements of such a pilgrimage. Moreover, the fact that one of his goals is to climb the Brocken, the highest peak in the Harz Mountains, which had been closed to the public in the GDR because of its strategic military position on the border of the Federal Republic, shows that he is interested in participating in a centuries-old German tradition. Goethe, Heine, and innumerable other Germans had climbed the Brocken and still do because of its height and its pagan significance as the sacred site of the Walpurgisnacht, a carnivalesque ritual that takes place each year to drive away evil spirits and welcome the coming of spring. While Rosenlöcher's wanderer arrives too late in the summer to participate in the Walpurgisnacht festivities, he still aligns himself with hundreds of other Germans on their way to the summit. _____________ 11

Models and Mirrors: Towards an Anthropology of Public Events (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1990) 67.

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Another method Rosenlöcher employs to turn this journey into a mock religious event is to give his wandering pilgrim a fictional saint as a travel companion. While Rosenlöcher has the pilgrim comically critique himself, nearly everyone he meets, and several canonical literary figures, there is one person with whom he has the man seriously commiserate: his fictional compatriot "Saint Ernst." "Saint Ernst" serves as an example of what happens to saintly figures when they enter the cruel, modern world: "Sogar für Sankt Ernst ging ich mit, den einer dieser Gegenwartsmenschen mit seinem Auto einfach umgemangelt hatte, so daß Sankt Ernst schon seit Wochen im Vogtland im Streckverband lag" (57). Creating a figure called "Sankt Ernst," whose name can be translated as "Saint Serious," and then having him sustain an accident that immobilizes him, Rosenlöcher symbolically frees his protagonist from all seriousness so he can act like a clown and depict his experiences with humor. Having a saint with whom he can sympathize, if only in his thoughts, also assists him in his physical and spiritual battle against the brutality of the "modern" people he meets. St. Ernst functions as a conscientious reminder that the traveler should record his observations of the natural world ("Gerade weil die Natur sich immer weiter von uns entfernte und längst in sich selbst zurückzog, war jede kleine Notiz ein Appell, doch noch eine Weile zu bleiben" [40]) and that he should persist in his walking and not rely on mechanized vehicles to propel him forward ("'Wenn du dich unterwegs mitnehmen lässt, ist deine Wanderung gleich nichts mehr wert', sagte mein Freund St. Ernst" [56]). Even the saint becomes an object of satire, however, because of his nagging pedantry: "Er jedenfalls, so St. Ernst, habe als Naturbeobachter jede Kleinigkeit wichtig genommen und bei seinen ornithologischen Studien auch einmal eine zufällig vorbeikommende Stubenfliege (Musca domestica) schriftlich festgehalten" (40). Turning to a fictional religious figure as imaginary support in a time of constant change indicates the protagonist's need to rely on an iconical, morally superior figure as a steadfast bulwark unaffected by earthly turmoil. That Rosenlöcher has the saint ironically be hit by a car—that is, directly affected by a worldly event—highlights the selfish carelessness of modern people and the vulnerability of things perceived to be invulnerable. Turning St. Ernst into a satirical object, he simultaneously suggests a need for such bulwarks and calls them into question for being inadequate protection in such unstable times. Rosenlöcher further connects his wanderer's hike to a spiritual pilgrimage by granting the man's shoes several ritual, symbolic functions that bond his journey to those of other pilgrims. Since his old, East German shoes are neither comfortable nor stable enough to withstand the rough, mountainous terrain, they cause him pain throughout his hike and

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thus serve as a trivialized form of self-mortification resembling the flagellations medieval monks inflicted on themselves along their pilgrimages to holy places. When it rains, his shoes "quietschten, und die den Weg entlangkommenden Bäche flossen direkt durch sie durch" (73). Not only does their uncomfortable shape torture him, but also the fact that he loses one of them while riding a ski lift (39). Naturally, he views the loss and subsequent embarassing recovery as punishment for his having ridden a ski lift up a hill instead of walking (see St. Ernst's warning above). As he walks, the shoes gradually fall apart, forcing him to buy new, West German ones: "Doch gerade jetzt, wo alle Welt hier im Wald herumlief, war die Verteidigung des wirklichen Wanderns auf meine Füße gestellt: auch wenn sich meine Schuhsohle leider im Prozeß der Ablösung befand" (76). Since Rosenlöcher connects the shoes' disintegration and eventual replacement with a western pair to the narrator's sloughing off and assuming a new, more optimistic identity, the reader can interpret the narrator's entire journey to be a successfully completed spiritual pilgrimage. Although he trivializes Christian metaphors here, this trivialization cannot entirely eclipse the journey's spiritual nature. Even the text's spiritually uplifting ending is not free of paradox and irony, however. Wolfgang Emmerich points out the contradiction in Rosenlöcher's critiques of the West, apparent in the final scene, which takes place when the narrator arrives in the West German village of Goslar: "Die ironische Schlußpointe besteht im Kauf neuer Westschuhe (Marke "Mephisto"), mit denen er sich nun den kapitalistischen Westen mühelos erwandern wird."12 The (French!) shoe brand "Mephisto," recalling Goethe's Mephisto, functions symbolically and implies that, like Faust, this wanderer will be granted a new realm of knowledge, in this case knowledge of how to master the transition to a free-market, democratic society. Tobias Völkel reveals the irony of this misleading optimism: "Obwohl das Ende des Buches scheinbar mit dem Verständnis des Ostdeutschen für die kapitalistischen Westdeutschen endet, so macht der Kauf eines Schuhs der Marke Mephisto doch deutlich, daß es sich hierbei nur um eine Verführung gehandelt hat."13 Hope triumphs at journey's end, however, through a poem appended to the travelogue. In it, the narrator gazes into a pool of water and undergoes a life-altering, hallucinatory experience, emerging prosaically ready to take the bus back home: Am Grenzhang abwärts, an verschwiegner Stelle, ging noch ein Wasser über einen Stein.

_____________ 12 13

Kleine Literaturgeschichte der DDR, 2nd rev. ed. (Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 1996) 504. "Referat: Buchvorstellung. Thomas Rosenlöcher: Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern (Harzreise)," Online, 16 November 1999 .

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Die Oberfläche, schwach in sich gekrümmt, war gläsern fest und zitterte kaum merklich, da ich die Lippen auf die Fläche legte. Und unter mir, tief unterm Eis des Wassers, die Blumen und die Farne wanken sah und tiefer noch, in einer Grotte aus reglos schimmernden Metallen, den Käferkönig und die Schaumzikade, die Schaumzikade und den Käferkönig auf goldnen Füßen rasch nach hinten eilen, als schaue ich auf meiner Kindheit Grund. Eisige Kälte drang mir bis ins Hirn. Schwarmdiamanten schossen hin und her. [...] Nicht weiß die Unschuld, welches Rohr sie schluckt. Drei Tage war ich bis hierher gewandert, und fünf Minuten von hier fuhr ein Bus. (90)

Entitled "Das Zitterbild," the poem testifies not without irony to the fact that the wandering poet has regained his ability to write poetry and thus fulfilled the purpose of his journey only after having suffered physically and spiritually: "Spielt das Ende des Prosatextes auf den problematischen, ja prekären Erwerb einer neuen Identität an, so evoziert das unmittelbar darauf folgende Gedicht Das Zitterbild, das den eigentlichen Schluß des Bandes bildet und gleichsam als Resümee der Identitätssuche fungiert, vor allem den endgültigen Verlust der alten Identität."14 Although the titular "flickerpicture" describes the poet's identity as fluctuating, that he is able to create such a poem affirms his ability to perform creatively in the FRG as he had in the GDR. Guilt by Association: Western Stereotypes and Eastern Defensive Metaphors On his hike westward, Rosenlöcher's wanderer exposes himself to many situations that amplify differences between East and West German cultures and attitudes and draw out the author's satirical stance toward specific West German prejudices against the East. In the Eastern town of Quedlinburg, the wanderer encounters a West German tour group and overhears a tourist exclaim: "'Das wird dauern, bis die hier im Osten gelernt haben, was eigentlich Arbeiten ist'" (20). Rosenlöcher counters this comment immediately with the jab "bemerkte eine Kleinbildkamera spitz," referring to this tourist as the 35 millimeter camera he wears _____________ 14

Grauert 108. Grauert interprets the poem in detail on pages 108-109.

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around his neck (20). Other members of the group, looking at the rundown buildings, exclaim with indignation: "Was haben die hier aus unserem Deutschland gemacht!" (21). They then turn to the hapless wanderer, as if he were personally responsible: Alle Apotheker sahn mich von der Seite an. Woher wußten sie, daß ich das aus Deutschland gemacht hatte? Ich allein hatte schuld, wo keiner sich erinnern konnte. Daß keiner sich erinnern konnte, war auch meine Schuld. Die Schuld, im Verfall keine Sprache für den Verfall gefunden zu haben. Denn wer eine Sprache fand, hatte das Land schon verlassen, das, doch als Kummerland meins, auf einmal den Apothekern gehörte. (21-22)

Using the metonymy of the 35 millimeter camera and the metaphor of the "Apotheker" to label West Germans while displaying their prejudices, Rosenlöcher paints a satirical portrait, demonstrating how their (to them) apparently harmless comments provoke an identity crisis. His wanderer's reaction to their accusations represents the East German dilemma when confronted with such Western prejudices. Unable to slough off the comments, he accepts the entire blame for the dilapidated state of his country because he was one of those who stayed, both before and after the Wall came down. As the only East German object of these West German accusations, he stands metonymically for his whole country. The fact that his guilt is based on his inability to remember how his country came to be in such a mess, that he was and is unable even to put his experiences into words, points to the difficulty East Germans, in particular East German authors, have in coming to terms with their socialist past and in communicating their biographies to Westerners.15 Particularly significant in the German context, where memory, forgetting, and coming to terms with the past are major issues, Rosenlöcher effectively displays the confusion and speechlessness produced by the opening of the border when East Germans were suddenly forced to explain how they could have allowed the development of—and survived within—an economically inviable, repressive regime. The author portrays this communication barrier with a comic irony that reveals its seriousness. Rosenlöcher's calling as a poet and his dependence on language as a self-defensive mechanism can be seen in his frequent use of metaphors and metonymies like those above to condense his descriptions and ironic attacks.16 Most West Germans are identified by their appearance: their _____________ 15 16

See also Grauert's discussion of Rosenlöcher's search for a new authorial identity in the Harzreise (103-118). Rosenlöcher was best known in the GDR for his poetry collections Ich lag im Garten bei Kleinschachwitz (1982) and Schneebier (1988). Since 1989 he has also written a diary of the revolution, Die verkauften Pflastersteine. Dresdner Tagebuch (1990), and several other poetry collections, including Ich sitze in Sachsen und schau in den Schnee (1999).

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attire, cars, or tourist status. Not only is the West German tour group encountered in Quedlinburg a group of "Kameras" (20), but a man in the hotel bar is also a "Pullover" (32). Such people drive fancy cars called "Chromschiffe," which contrast with the "sogenannten Trabanten, die auch eine Stoßstange hatten und auch eine Kühlerhaube, so daß mit dem Wahrbild der Technik aller Gerätschaft Hinfälligkeit klappernd herangaloppierte" (26). Here, the vivid description and onomotopoetic words bring to life a limping, sputtering Trabi. Rosenlöcher produces a comical effect by repeating these metaphors throughout the text. Like Henri Bergson's jack-in-the-box, they pop up in various contexts, as funny leitmotifs.17 They reduce, for example, West German men to "Apotheker" (21), who have the reputation in Germany of being wealthy and charging high prices. Like parasites, pharmacists depend on human illness for their livelihood. The wanderer recognizes these "Apotheker" by their "Erwerbsblick" and the fact that they drive around in cars in order to experience the world. In German, this creates a pun: "fahren" (to drive) in order to "erfahren" (experience) the world (24). Once he even mistakes a newly-rich East German driving a shiny new "Chromschiff" for one of these West German "Apotheker": "Der plötzliche Auftritt von Ostapothekern machte mein Weltbild noch komplizierter" (25). This admission demonstrates that the man does not condemn West Germans per se, but rather the way they appear and act. Reacting to the unfamiliar and disturbing new attitudes and values entering his reality, he distances himself by lending them humorous and derogatory names. Rosenlöcher's hiker-poet also enjoys creating amusing new compound words to describe his simultaneously old and new environment. "Bedeutungsgewitter" is the effect produced by West German newspapers on their readers (11). This may be understood physically (their large size produces a loud rustle when read) and metaphorically (packed with information, reading them is like being bombarded by a thunderstorm). An East German pocket watch is a "Grobchronometer" (36) and an "Untergangsdenkmal" (37). "Schnürsenkelideen" are various disparate, often nonsensical ideas that occur to the narrator while hiking in the mountains (55). In such words disparate concepts are welded together, representing the linguistic and political confusion in which the poet lives. One characteristic of metaphors and metonymies is their ambiguity: they connote more than just their surface meaning. Although the poet repeatedly uses the word "Apotheker" derogatorily, the word also has _____________ 17

Henri Bergson, "Laughter," from Comedy: An Essay [by] George Meredith and Laughter [by] Henri Bergson, ed. Wylie Sypher (Garden City, NY: Doubleday Anchor, 1956) 105-110. Bergson uses the "jack-in-the-box," a toy that repeatedly pops open to surprise its (child) possessor, to refer to comical situations that provoke laughter by occurring repeatedly.

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positive connotations. "Apotheker" play a necessary role in society, providing medicine for the ill. Applying this stereotype thus also implies that West Germans (and certainly some East Germans saw them this way, too) view themselves as the cure for problems inherited from the socialist GDR. They are not doctors, in other words, not qualified to diagnose the illness; however, they are intermediaries who provide a potentially curative medicine: in this case, a stable and powerful West German economy and currency. The word "Apotheker" conjures up the image of a wellrespected, self-confident, mature man: a metaphor for what West Germany, a successful state with experience in capitalism, represents for the GDR, a "sick patient" who needs to be cured. The wanderer also conveys an ambiguous stance by comparing West German men to Goethe. Turning Goethe's image as a classical, canonical authority figure upside down, the wanderer uses his conservative image as ammunition to fuel his critiques of West Germans. Initially, as he walks, the narrator identifies with Goethe, until he begins to tire. Then he recalls Goethe's disdain for revolutionaries and freedom fighters, quoting the classical author as having written the words: "Alle Freiheitsapostel, sie waren mir immer zuwider" (50). Reconsidering his cameraderie, he concludes: "Ach, war dieser Johann Wolfgang nicht das Urbild eines Großapothekers?" (50). With this rhetorical question, the wanderer refers to Goethe's bourgeois conservatism, which he at this point connects with that of West Germans. The more he wanders and ponders, the more Goethe and the West German "Apotheker" appear to him to have in common. By Chapter 16 the two figures have blended into one single, hilarious, critical image—the West German Mercedes driver: das Chromschiff hinter mir [hatte] von vornherein etwas Halluzinatorisches [...] Unendlich langsam kam es heran. Und vorn auf dem Kühler schwebte das als Mercedesstern bezeichnete Silberzeichen. Und über dem Mercedesstern das noble Apothekerhaupt. Das immer näher kam. Und klar und frei dreinschaute. Als ob es Goethe wäre. Das hätte ich mir gleich denken müssen, daß Goethe Mercedes fuhr. Doch diesmal ging ich nicht beiseite. Vierzig Jahre beiseite gegangen, aber jetzt war Schluß. [...] Doch war es nicht ein würdiger Abschluß meiner Wanderung, von Goethe überfahren zu werden? Mit letzter Kraft blieb ich stehn. Aber auch jetzt war keine Antwort. Und als ich mich nach ihm umdrehte, war Goethe in seinem unendlichen Hochmut auf einen Seitenweg abgebogen, und seines Chromschiffes silberner Stern schwebte über der Schonung entlang. Kurz,

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das sah dem Alten ähnlich, einer Auseinandersetzung mit mir letztlich auszuweichen. (61-62)

This image unites many previous themes: the critique and parody of Goethe, the insidious car drivers, the narrator's self-defensiveness, and the lack of communication between East and West. Because the West German "Apotheker-Goethe" drives past the wanderer in the end, not stopping to interact with him, he perceives the man's behavior as West German arrogance and unwillingness to confront the East German point of view. The dissolution of the GDR border has by now apparently plunged him into a state of confusion; the images he created have blended fantastically, indicating that his experiences are traumatic. Figures of speech and images such as this one identify Rosenlöcher's text as the most critical of the three in this chapter regarding West German activities in East Germany after the revolution. Irrational Fears and Fantastical Threats: A Dream Interpretation As in Heine's Harzreise, Rosenlöcher incorporates three vivid, bizarre dreams into his traveler's list of trials. Each dream, corresponding to each of the journey's three nights and blending themes and images from his daily experiences, serves a different function within the text. In the first dream, his feelings of paranoia and guilt—depicted with an absurd, truly dreamlike lack of logic—haunt him and nearly convince him that the postWende reality into which he awakens has all been a dream: "wirklich war mir mein Traum bedeutend wirklicher gewesen als die Wirklichkeit, die ich seit Monaten träumte und aus der ich jederzeit noch erwachen konnte und denken: 'Du hast aber lange geträumt'" (34). Occurring in the early morning, the dream takes shape when he subconsciously hears the maid's wake-up knocks on his door. The sound summons the fear that the GDR police have come to arrest him for allegedly having cried out "Scheißstaat" the previous evening. He expresses this subconscious fear within the context of an argument with his wife, during which she warns him that the police have arrived, and he blames her for having sent him on his journey. The argument is not only comical because of the couple's shared, exaggerated and unnecessary paranoia, but also because the protagonist confuses reality with his dream world: "Habe ich nicht geträumt [. . .], daß wir jetzt Westgeld hätten?" (34). With this dream Rosenlöcher reemphasizes the traveler's transitional status, allowing him to express emotions like wonderment and disbelief, which he is forced to suppress during the day for fear of appearing foolish.

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The traveler's second dream, experienced under highly uncomfortable circumstances in the woods after he fails to find a vacant hotel room, is much more grotesque and politically critical than the first, being a summation and distortion of the collected experiences from the previous two days. Fantastical and hallucinatory, the dream resembles Heine's Göttingen library nightmare filled with horrific caricatures in Die Harzreise. Whereas in his dream Heine flees from the goddess of justice, who bemoans her son Prometheus's terrible fate, and from the other agitated members of the law faculty at the University of Göttingen, in Rosenlöcher's dream the hapless wanderer tries in vain to defend his utopian socialist ideals against a horde of West and East German caricatures who accuse him of having been a socialist party member and try to convince him that his socialist utopia was repressive and inferior to the West. Their persistent barrage of questions resembles the West German interrogations of East Germans following unification to determine if they were guilty of having committed political crimes in the GDR. Eventually he resists: "'Aber haben Sie denn nie einen Menschheitsgedanken gedacht?' hörte ich mich noch rufen" (69). After he awakens from this nightmare, he still feels he is being laughed at by the entire world for having once believed that socialism promotes a more humane society: "das weiter fortrollende Donnern erschien mir allmählich wieder als weltweites Apothekergelächter" (71). This dream functions as a way for Rosenlöcher to display the terrifying threat Westerners represented to Easterners with their constant accusations and insistence that their political system with its "Freiheit" (68) and "Grundgesetz" (69) is infinitely better than the GDR's was. The myriad characters, including among others the English Queen, a personified Frankfurter Allgemeine newspaper with golden, "luziferische" glasses (68), and the clumsy hotel waitress, unite the ludicrous and the demonic to produce a grotesque, horrific experience that contributes to the wanderer's feelings of being terrorized, overwhelmed, and helpless. The dream is thus a further revelation about what it is like to live in a liminal state, lacking legitimation and perplexed not only about how to act, but also how to react when confronted with a completely new set of social and political rules. The third and final dream, which starkly contrasts with the other two because of its optimism and seriousness, sends a reassuring message to the wanderer that he should not despair, but instead realize that despite all the difficulties he has had and will have, his wife still loves him and can serve as the strong, comforting bulwark he has lacked throughout his journey: "In jener Nacht schlief ich mit meiner Frau; ein besonders tiefer, verworrener Lichtaugenblick, da das Gesicht meiner eigenen Frau vor Schönheit fast zerschmolz. So daß ich am Morgen danach endlich wußte,

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warum sie mich in den Harz geschickt hatte" (88). This dream sets up the spiritual conversion he undergoes the same morning after putting on his new Mephisto shoes. With the stability of his personal life reconfirmed, he can more easily dismiss his negative experiences and prevent them from affecting his happiness, self-confidence, and identity. The Transitional Identity: Ostalgie and Alienation A final source of humor in Rosenlöcher's text that recurs in Schirmer's and Sparschuh's, as well as other postwall satire, emerges from the narrator's perspective on the GDR. His views are comical and critical, but not unilaterally condemnatory, as he seeks aspects of the past worth preserving in a unified context. Becoming a hallmark of East-West discourse, the neologism "Ostalgie," a play on the words "Ost" and "nostalgia," is a derogatory term used to designate any such positive references to the GDR. Many Easterners, missing certain aspects of life in the GDR, look back sentimentally on them, while Westerners often fail to understand how anything positive can be associated with their projection of the East German dictatorship. Wolfgang Emmerich has grouped together a large number of Eastern German literary works as "ostalgic," including both Rosenlöcher's and Sparschuh's texts in this category.18 The psychological anthropologist Elliot Oring provides one possible explanation why sentiments including "feelings of goodness, affection, tenderness, admiration, sympathy, and compassion," today might appear pathetic or overblown.19 Since the end of the nineteenth century sentiment has gradually become a third repressed human impulse, joining the unconscious sexual and aggressive impulses, which Freud had indicated warrant suppression or repression for the creation and perpetuation of civilization (Oring 8-13). Oring sees twentieth-century humanity's abhorrence of overt sentimental expression as a product of Freud's reduction of all human sentiment, including love, to sexual drives and instincts (13).20 Because we now often have difficulty expressing sentimentality openly, we are compelled to turn to the guise of selfconscious irony, "kitsch"/"camp" (cheap sentimentality), or jokes to convey our emotions. Overblown pathos ("bathos") also characterized official GDR rhetoric. Rejecting this formerly emotion-laden language, _____________ 18 19 20

Emmerich 502-505. See also Claudia Sadowski-Smith's "Ostalgie: Revaluing the Past, Regressing into the Future," GDR Bulletin 25 (Spring 1998): 1-6. "Humor and the suppression of sentiment," Humor 7.1 (1994): 7-26, 8. Oring refers here to the U.S., but his conclusions are applicable to post-industrial Western societies in general. Oring cites Philip Rieff, Freud: The Mind of the Moralist (Garden City, NY: Anchor, 1961).

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Rosenlöcher, like many contemporary Western authors, uses humor to express feelings which otherwise might be repressed altogether, since sentimentality is frequently disdained in the West, especially in Western Germany. Strong evidence that these conclusions are accurate may be found in the way (predominantly Western German) mass media and Western Germans in general have condemned Eastern Germans as overly plaintive and nostalgic whenever they express their true feelings— privately or publicly—in a straightforward, literal manner. Although Rosenlöcher's text was written too early to display nostalgia in the way Eastern authors have done in later years, considering that his country had not yet been united completely with the West, his traveler nevertheless muses about the fact that the GDR as he knew it is rapidly disintegrating. One characteristic of this disintegration is its paradoxical nature: "Ausgerechnet die neue Zeit war plötzlich die alte geworden. Während die alte Zeit, die längst überwunden war, plötzlich als neue Zeit neue Anfangsschwierigkeiten machte" (16). Reflecting with ironic distance on various aspects of GDR culture, the traveler compares them with those in the Federal Republic, not always praising the Western ones. For example, he criticizes sluggish GDR trains for having distorted the East Germans' perception of both time and space: Hinter Halle fuhr der Zug immer langsamer. So wie die Züge von Jahr zu Jahr immer langsamer fuhren. Und sich die Zeit verlangsamte, so daß wir immer mehr Zeit hatten, je später die Züge ankamen. Während das Land sich selbst zu vergrößern schien mit seinen versteinerten Äckern, ja selbst unterwegs war, selbst noch im Schlaf und weiter und weiter abtriftend, mit immer graueren Häusern und einsamer umwölkten Industrieminaretten, jedes Jahr Hunderte von Kilometern weiter im Osten lag. (12)

At the same time he criticizes watches from the "digitalen, westlichen Welt" (36) for their "pulsierende Ziffern, auftauchend im Nu und wieder verschwindend ins Nichts. Als wäre die Zeit abgeschafft zugunsten des blinkenden Kurzaugenblicks" (36-37). A poet who receives inspiration from moments of silence and contemplation, he values the more "primitive" type of watch produced in the GDR that depicted the passing of time with ticking hands as a slow and deliberate process: "Mochte mich sein erbittertes Ticken noch eine Weile begleiten: bis auch die neue Zeit wieder bloß die alte war" (37). During his nightmarish experience in the woods, however, he discards his watch because its ticking disturbs him, reminding him of his passivity in the face of GDR repression: Trotzdem wieder aufgewacht. Einfach, weil der Wald hier tickte. Ein fein gehäkeltes Untergangsticken. Das mich vierzigjähriger Duldung anklagte. Des Hier-und-da-mutig-Seins, um im Schutz dieses Mutes desto ungestörter feige sein zu können. Des Mauschelns mit der Macht hinter dem eigenen Rücken. [. . .]

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Meine Ruhlauhr war wahnsinnig geworden. So daß ich das Menetekel aus meiner Kuhle warf. Mochte es draußen das Waldsterben messen. (67)

Throwing away his prized GDR watch for reminding him of the past paves the way for his later, eager acceptance of the West German consumer's paradise: "[A]ls ich die cellophanenen Bonbonhöhlen betrat, die leuchtenden Spraywälder und gleißenden Uhrengletscher, wußte ich, daß ich sie immer schon wollte, seit meiner Kaugummizeit. Und es erschauerte mich, da sie nun mir gehörten" (89). Wolfgang Emmerich interprets Rosenlöcher's text thus: "So ist ein intelligent, sensibel und munter erzählter Text entstanden, dessen leicht ostalgische Tendenz charmant und gar nicht störend ist" (Emmerich 504). Because these authors present their emotions with irony and a solid sense of humor, the Ostalgie appears "charming" rather than "annoying." In an article entitled "The National Longing for Form," Timothy Brennan writes that in some twentieth-century Third World novels, the contradictory topoi of exile and nation are fused in a lament for the necessary and regrettable insistence of nation-forming, in which the writer proclaims his identity with a country whose artificiality and exclusiveness have driven him into a kind of exile—a simultaneous recognition of nationhood and an alienation from it.21

This paradox of feeling both membership in, and exclusion from, a newly formed nation applies to East Germans following the Wende.22 By using humor, satire, and irony, Rosenlöcher makes possible the complex task of depicting these contradictory emotions. The laughter he incites, alternatingly mocking, satirical, and conciliatory, allows the reader to enter into the specifically East German experience and discourse surrounding the reconfiguration of identities at that time. Since all nations are "imaginary constructs that depend for their existence on an apparatus of cultural fictions in which imaginative literature plays a decisive role," Rosenlöcher's work, along with that of the other authors in this study, contributes significantly to the creation of a unified German identity based on individual differences (Brennan 49). Rosenlöcher's hapless wanderer, at the end of his journey, assumes a dual identity: his original East German identity and a newfound Western one. Overcoming his alienation from the West, he inhabits a new, unified German space.

_____________ 21 22

"The National Longing for Form," Nation and Narration, ed. Homi K. Bhabha (London and New York: Routledge, 1990) 44-70, 63. See also Paul Cooke, Representing East Germany Since Unification: From Colonization to Nostalgia (Oxford, UK: Berg, 2005).

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Bernd Schirmer's Schlehweins Giraffe The unnamed male narrator in Schlehweins Giraffe must also learn the hard way to deal with the changes in his world. When the narrative opens in medias res a few months after unification, he has lost both of his jobs: as comma editor and as recycling collector; his wife has left him "zum drittenmal endgültig"(6); and, additionally, he has adopted a giraffe as a favor for his friend Carl-Ernst Schlehwein. Schlehwein, an East German painter and political dissident, had bought the giraffe for 50 marks from the East Berlin zoo, which was dissolved after unification due to lack of funding. Schlehwein initially keeps her at his house in the country; however, soon disgusted with post-unification conditions in Eastern Germany, he decides to migrate to Africa. His decision is hastened by the desire to avoid arrest for having committed the crime of stealing and then burning the property ledgers from the local town hall after a Western German claimed to be the rightful owner of his house. The narrator thinks Schlehwein is jesting when he calls and asks him to adopt the giraffe. But before the narrator can protest, Schlehwein deposits the giraffe on his doorstep and disappears. Suspecting that Schlehwein will never return to claim her, the narrator continues to hope, meanwhile keeping the giraffe indefinitely in his atelier apartment with the high ceiling in East Berlin's Prenzlauer Berg district. Making the most of the situation and treating her like an overgrown baby, the narrator adopts her as a replacement partner for his wife in a one-sided "dialogue," which is integrated into the text. Despite onerous circumstances, his persistence, self-irony, and optimistic worldview prevent his fate from appearing truly tragic. He writes the text itself as self-therapy, to chronicle and to come to terms with these circumstances, shifting back and forth between present and past events as he experiences unified Berlin together with the giraffe. The titular Schlehwein, always considered the giraffe's rightful owner, never actually appears except in the narrator's accounts of the past. Similar to Rosenlöcher's protagonist, Schirmer's narrator has difficulties adjusting to his liminal status. He also displays shock and paranoia in his new, post-unification circumstances, believing the mailman is a former Stasi official and that the Western German police are now observing him. The police suspect that Schirmer's narrator conspired with Schlehwein in the latter's subversive political crimes, while the narrator fears they may also arrest him for harboring a giraffe in his apartment who had previously supported the GDR regime. Like Rosenlöcher, Schirmer depicts the fate of many Eastern Germans after unification through his protagonist. Unlike Rosenlöcher's poet-narrator, however, not only has Schirmer's narrator's employment and social situation been altered, but

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also his personal life has gone awry. Similar to the narrators in the other two texts, his clumsiness, naiveté, and fears make him laughable, but also likeable. As with Rosenlöcher's narrator, the reader easily empathizes with, but does not pity, him; his ironic and humorous attitude mark him as a survivor. The laughter Schirmer produces is a "laughing with" rather than a "laughing at."23 Humor here, as in the Harzreise, helps the narrator come to terms with his new situation, while entertaining and enlightening the reader about the Eastern German unification experience. In my analysis of Schlehweins Giraffe, since the giraffe is the dominant humorous and grotesque figure, I begin by examining her symbolic status as an allegory for post-unification Eastern Germans. I then move to the narrator himself as a foolish, paranoid victim who is only saved from experiencing severe depression by his self-ironic view of life and ability to play with language as a means of gaining control at least over the linguistic aspects of his liminal world. Next I explain how Schirmer uses stereotypes and typical Western and Eastern German characters to illustrate differences between the two groups and to show how unification has negatively affected Eastern Germans. Finally, I discuss how the narrator battles to come to terms with the past and the present through writing. The humorous and satirical devices Schirmer applies to the few months of his narrator's post-unification biography in Schlehweins Giraffe, quite similar to those Rosenlöcher employs, emphasize the fact that even after the official political unification of Germany had taken place, Eastern Germans still remained in an uncertain, transitional state. The Giraffe as an Allegory for Eastern Germans The main humorous element driving this narrative is clearly the giraffe. Abandoned by a bankrupt zoo, with her height, long neck, gangly, uncoordinated movements and questionable intelligence, she assumes an extended allegorical significance. The mix of Western and Eastern German cultural values have already produced a transfigured, grotesque environment for the narrator, but she adds an even more grotesque element.24 On one hand, she fulfills a positive function by giving the narrator someone to care for and by listening to his story. This interaction _____________ 23 24

See Hans Robert Jauss, "Über den Grund des Vergnügens am komischen Helden" in Das Komische, ed. Wolfgang Preisendanz and Rainer Warning (München: Fink, 1976) 103-32, 109. I use the word "grotesque" here in its colloquial definition to indicate that the narrator's environment is distorted and that the giraffe, as a bizarre, fantastical figure, adds to this distortion.

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allows him to come to terms with his personal problems and the radical changes occurring in his community. On the other hand, she invades his life. She demands to be fed oats (5), disturbs him with her incessant loud television watching (14, 18), and flatulates without regard for place or circumstance (12). Once she even eats two pages of his manuscript—and naturally, they were the best pages he had ever written (72-73). In order to elaborate the giraffe's allegorical status and to make the narrator's "dialogue" with her seem plausible, Schirmer gives her a voice, something that giraffes, lacking vocal chords, can never have. Adding to the absurdly comical fact that she speaks at all is the comically flawed nature of her speech: she talks with a stutter, saying "Ko," "Ko-ko-ko," "Konolialismus" (5) instead of "Kolonialismus" and "Es lebe die dtsch demkrtsch Replik" (90). Her choppy manner of speaking resembles that of Erich Honecker, First Party Secretary of the German Democratic Republic from 1971-1989. Not only these comically mispronounced words, but also her "dunkle Vergangenheit" as a circus performer make her suspect in post-unification Eastern Germany (10). Because the narrator believes she is capable of communicating her suspect biography to him, he encourages her to open up and speak to him of her past life: "Ich muß Psychotherapie mit ihr machen. [...] Ich muß ihr Vertrauen gewinnen. Wenn ich ihr alles sage, dann sagt sie vielleicht auch alles" (55). Since the narrator's attempts to perform "psychotherapy" on her fail, and she never says much more than the above words and a few profanities she learned from the zookeepers, he initially concludes: Ich weiß nicht, welche Einstellung die Giraffe hat, zur Wende beispielsweise. Eigentlich müßte sie doch froh sein. Endlich keine Gitter mehr und keine Dressuren. Endlich frei und genug zu fressen. Statt dessen höre ich von ihr nur das ewige Genöle über den Konolialismus. In jedem jungen Mann, der mit dynamisch-federnden Schritten über die Straße geht und eine Krawatte trägt und einen vernünftigen Haarschnitt mit Scheitel, sieht sie einen Konolialherrn. Und dabei sind es nur Versicherungsbeamte oder Bankangestellte. (47)

Here, Schirmer reveals the "Konolialismus," to which she refers, to imply both the Western European colonization of Africa that led to her mother's capture and importation to Europe and a Western German colonization of Eastern Germany. Schirmer's irony is overt—it is precisely the insurance agents and bankers who have been viewed by Eastern Germans as the primary forces in the front-line of colonization in their "new" federal states. Near the novel's conclusion, however, when the narrator's friend, Kleingrube, shows him an old newspaper clipping of the giraffe in a circus tent licking Erich Honecker's hand, her "guilt" as a supporter of the GDR government is firmly established. In a hilarious scene mocking the furor

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that arose in Germany as the Stasi files were opened to public scrutiny in January 1992, the narrator and Kleingrube blame the giraffe for having conspired with the GDR government. In a comically exaggerated fit of rage, the narrator yells at her: du Altlast du, du alte Seilschaft, du hast doch mit ihnen unter einer Decke gesteckt, du hast doch getanzt für sie, du bist vor ihnen herumgetänzelt, mal im Paßgang und mal im Gleichschritt, und hast den Hals hochgereckt und hast in die Zirkuskuppel hinaufgeröhrt, denn du kannst doch reden, du kannst doch nicht nur Okay und Seiße und Konolialismus, warum hast du denn nie was gesagt, wenn ich dir meine Geschichten erzählt habe, und ich füttere dich hier durch von meinen paar Arbeitslosenpiepen, du hast für ein paar Stück Würfelzucker und für ein paar andere Privilegien wie einen etwas größeren Käfig und ein paar Riesen unter Aufsicht [...], zum Jubel des ganzen Zelts [...] hinaufgetönt [...] es lebe die dtsch demkrtsch Rupli [...]. (111-112)

Using a giraffe as the ridiculous target of political accusations, Schirmer condemns the extremes that led to a virtual anti-Stasi witchhunt against ordinary citizens in the 1990s. In German, a long neck can symbolize a "Wendehals," meaning in English "turncoat" or "opportunist." Because she did not admit openly to the narrator that she had been a supporter of the GDR regime, she may be viewed as an opportunist for trying to blend in to her new environment. The giraffe's allegorical significance can be expanded by examining the parallels between her life and the Eastern Germans' following unification. Representing Eastern German citizens trying to find their voice in a unified Germany, the giraffe's uncertain fate after the East Berlin zoo's dissolution represents the uncertainty facing Eastern Germans after their country was absorbed into the Federal Republic. Similar to the East Germans living behind the Wall, she lived in a zoo cage until unification. Her uncertain fate after the zoo's dissolution is a metaphor for the uncertainty plaguing East Germans after their country was absorbed into the Federal Republic. She must also readjust her behavior in the narrator's apartment—for example, learn how to turn the television volume down with her tongue—just as all East Germans must learn new ways of thinking and acting. "Sie muß das endlich lernen. Wir alle müssen viel Neues lernen in dieser Zeit" (14). Her defective speech represents the East German voice, drowned out by a larger, more powerful West German one, which did not consider it worthy to be taken seriously. Her stuttering signifies the inability to communicate effectively that many Eastern Germans had in relating their biographies to Westerners. It may also stand for socialist rhetoric, which is no longer listened to or respected in most of the world today. The fact that she depends completely on the narrator for her sustenance mirrors Eastern German heavy reliance on West German resources after unification. In emphasizing her mechanical

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reactions and animal nature, Schirmer lampoons Eastern German nostalgic feelings without condemning them. In talking about his own past and delving into the giraffe's, it is the narrator who, in the end, provides an authentic Eastern German voice. Fooling Around: Schirmer's Comical Narrator The narrator himself acts like a fool trying to make the best of unfortunate circumstances. At the beginning of the novel, his ex-wife Kristina has left him for the third time, he has lost both his job as a "Kommasetzer" (comma editor) and as a recycling collector, and now he must care for a giraffe. After spending a few months alone with her, he begins to doubt the validity of his own experiences: "Die Giraffe schaut mich aus blöden Augen an, stumpfsinnig die Haferflocken wiederkäuend. Manchmal denke ich, die Giraffe kann gar nicht sprechen, und selbst ihre gestammelten Worte wie Konolialismus habe ich mir nur eingebildet" (67). Plus, he feels he is being watched and pursued by the Western German police for associating with the criminal Schlehwein and for harboring a GDRfriendly giraffe. Remarkably, he remains optimistic and finds creative ways to prevent himself from becoming too depressed: he talks to the giraffe, writes down his experiences, and collects post-Wende neologisms, producing new words to mock their comical meaning. His attitude toward his predicament remains surprisingly light-hearted and conciliatory. Fear of Stasi repression or a similar kind of Western German secret police, even after unification, produces an irrational, comic paranoia in the narrator and his friends Kleingrube and Schlehwein similar to that which Rosenlöcher grants his protagonist. When the narrator's friend Schlehwein agrees to have a telephone installed in his house, he places it in the outhouse for fear that his line will be tapped: Er sträubte sich lange, denn er wollte sich nicht mehr überwachen lassen. Ich glaube, er hat sich schließlich nur wegen Kristina darauf eingelassen, den Apparat wieder zu installieren, allerdings außerhalb des Hauses, im Toilettenhäuschen, das im Garten stand. Wir mußten das Telefon immer lange klingeln lassen. Dafür waren unsere Gespräche meist sehr kurz, vor allem im Winter. (11)

The narrator is also convinced his postman is a former official state bodyguard. Kleingrube suspects everyone of having conspired to perpetuate the GDR state; after unification, they are still culpable and at large. When two detectives resembling police officers or Western German secret police come to the narrator's apartment to ask if he knows where Schlehwein is, he naively and foolishly begins to justify his and Schlehwein's beliefs and behavior before, during, and after the wall came

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down. The two men ask a few simple questions, and he talks and talks, until they start motioning with their index fingers toward their temples, indicating that they think he is mentally disturbed. In his musings with these two figures, as well as with his friend Kleingrube, Schirmer's narrator takes a conciliatory view of the past. He does not blame his friends or other GDR citizens for having supported the state: wir sind doch alle mitgelaufen, wir haben alle mitgemacht, mehr oder weniger, die Bäcker haben Brötchen gebacken, und die Fleischer haben Schweine geschlachtet und haben das System gestützt . . . ich habe, wenn du so willst, auch das System gestützt, indem ich Flaschen zur Wiederverwertung angenommen habe, wir alle, ob bei der Wettervorhersage oder im Recycling, haben das Leben und somit das System in Gang gehalten. (40-41)

This need to talk, to justify one's beliefs and behavior under the socialist regime, is a common Eastern German experience in the wake of the Wende. In depicting the narrator as a foolish, but earnest person trying to come to terms with his past that is innocent as far as socialist party politics are concerned, Schirmer creates a believable and likable character whose honesty can possibly point the way toward Eastern German reconciliation with and acceptance of the past. One method he uses to pass the time and to maintain his sanity while unemployed is to collect new words he hears and reads in the newspaper: Wir alle müssen viel Neues lernen in dieser Zeit. Wir müssen alles neu sehen. Wir müssen umdenken. Das ist auch wieder so ein Wort, umdenken. Ich schreibe es auf. Ich schreibe alle neuen Wörter auf. Ich habe auf meinen Zetteln schon sehr viele Wörter stehen, die es zwar schon früher gab, aber die keine besondere Rolle gespielt haben. Erst in letzter Zeit haben sie eine überraschende und mitunter sogar überragende Bedeutung bekommen, wobei sie häufig ihren Sinngehalt eingebüßt oder gewandelt oder sogar gewendet haben. Umdenken, einklagen, Seilschaft, Altlast, Warteschleife, Wendehals, herunterfahren, abwickeln, abschmelzen, Treuhand, filetieren. Ich sammle diese neuen Wörter. (14-15)

To the narrator, these new words are novelties which he painstakingly collects and later even places in alphabetical order, but does not know what to do with: "Ich brauche sie nicht. Ich kann damit nichts anfangen" (114). Gradually some of them creep into his own active vocabulary, symbolizing and serving as the realization of the changes taking place in his life, thoughts, and speech. Not only does he collect new words, he also creates them together with Kristina, when she is around. They play a word game by putting together two compound words with the same base word to form a third word which comically blends the meaning of the two original words. For example, "Molotowcocktailparty" or "Pantoffelheldenstadt" (121). Playing with language, collecting and inventing new words, entertains the narrator and the reader, but also subverts the societal order. As these two examples

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and the ones in the previous paragraph demonstrate, these words are not completely apolitical and may be construed as a playful comment on language and society. Most of the new words the narrator collects— "Seilschaft," "Treuhand," "abwickeln," etc.—describe the dismantling and reorganization of the Eastern German infrastructure according to Western German guidelines. The word "Pantoffelheldenstadt" combines the "Pantoffelheld," a hen-pecked husband, and "Heldenstadt," a term used in the Soviet Union to exemplify a city with a heroic historical background. After 1989, the term "Heldenstadt" was applied to Leipzig as the city where the revolution began. The word "Pantoffelheldenstadt" trivializes Leipzig as a city filled with men who are dominated by their wives. Not all words the narrator uses have political connotations like this one; however, the initiated German-speaking reader will perceive in many of them resonances of suppressed anger and disappointed hopes. That the narrator has no name may designate him as the only character in the text who is not a type. His personality is developed in depth, and his choices are individual. Although his personality and actions have not been reduced to a typology, many of his life experiences and reactions to them may be viewed as universally human. Throughout the text, the narrator discusses the question of East German guilt, but the only "crime" he has actually committed and still feels guilty about is having cheated on his wife Kristina with his friend Bröckle's wife. It takes him until Chapter 21 (of 25 chapters) to admit his mistake, which was the reason Kristina left him for the third time. The true source of his unhappiness throughout the novel is proven to be her absence, not the unfavorable effects of unification. Schirmer's narrator, like the other narrators in this chapter, and those in Chapter 2 and in Hensel's Gipshut, constitutes a playful twist on the normative socialist realist "positive hero." Edward Mozejko defines this "positive hero" as a humanist who displays courage and a strong character, maintains an optimistic attitude, and is ever ready to sacrifice himself and to perform heroic deeds for the greater good of humanity and to further socialism.25 Schirmer's narrator is kind-hearted and has high humanistic ideals, but his morals are not perfect and he has no ambition or particular loyalty to any political system. Befitting Schirmer's satirical narrative, he lives as an innocent fool, who, while appearing naive on the surface, actually possesses his own brand of wisdom and tells truths (albeit ambiguous) about contemporary life in Eastern Germany. Dustin Griffin lists the various traditional types of fools who appear in satires. One type _____________ 25

See Der sozialistische Realismus: Theorie, Entwicklung und Versagen einer Literaturmethode (Bonn: Bouvier, 1977) 102.

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is the "naive fool," another is the "foolish victim" (Griffin 37, 11). Schirmer's narrator belongs to the category of "foolish victim." Beyond being unable to maintain a relationship with his wife/lover Kristina for more than a few years at a time, he is taken aback by the 1989 revolution and its aftereffects and bound by duty to care for a giraffe. Although more interested in his personal relations than in politics, he has bad luck at both. He also appears foolish because, although he realizes truths about his and his friends' lives, he knows he is powerless to influence society or even to change his own life in any significant way. His playfully biting, ironic comments are the only weapons he possesses. The narrator's careers as a comma editor and a recycling collector also carry symbolic weight. At first, the narrator works as a "Kommasetzer," correcting comma errors for a publishing house. In his circle of academic friends, this job title is ironic because it requires a knowledge of language, yet is completely uncreative. The act of placing commas into a text can be viewed as a metaphor for Schirmer's own authorial activity. Commas make the reader pause and potentially reflect on a sentence's meaning; they fill in the gaps between words by taking up space. Depending on where they are placed, they can alter the meaning of a sentence: "Man kann mit den Kommas den Sinn verändern. Es sind die Nuancen, die zählen im Leben" (58). Schirmer's text functions as a comma, or reason to pause, in the flow of German history. The 1989 revolution was a major pause or rupture in this flow. Schirmer's text also fills in gaps left by media coverage and historical accounts of the 1989 revolution and its aftereffects. To Schirmer, external political events are just the backdrop: the incidents themselves are less important than his characters' reactions to them. The narrator repeatedly reflects on the events of 1989, but he is more interested in what he and his friends were doing during the revolution than in the actual events of the revolution. Later, the narrator works for a GDR recycling plant, collecting paper for recycling and bottles for refilling, until the Western Germans close this company. Recycling something means reusing it or turning it into something new and useful—giving it a positive new function. According to the narrator Western Germans are not willing to learn from the Eastern Germans how to recycle or reuse packaging. Instead of taking the time to pause and reflect (as commas might compel them to do), Western Germans insist on throwing Eastern German ideas and infrastructures on the garbage heap and replacing them with new and improved Western German products and ideologies. By not "recycling" Eastern German ideas, Westerners harm not only the Easterners, but also themselves. The narrator condemns the effects of this Western arrogance: "sie werden es büßen, sie werden ersticken im eigenen Müll, und es geschieht ihnen recht. [...] [D]as

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wenigstens hätten sie lassen können, das war nun wirklich eine Errungenschaft, aber sie wollen nicht, daß wir überhaupt eine Errungenschaft gehabt haben" (7). Foolish though he may appear, this narrator turns his victimhood into moral victory by writing down his tragicomic experiences and critical observations—perhaps he is not so far from being a post-socialist "positive hero" after all. Western and Eastern German (Stereo)typical Characters In order to supply the reader with a specific example of how Eastern and Western Germans differ from each other and to poke fun at their problematic relationship, Schirmer creates the character Uncle Alfred. Uncle Alfred from Munich represents the Western German Besserwisser ("know-it-all"). He throws his money around, patronizes the narrator, and feels it his duty to assist the narrator to the point of insulting his intelligence. Before unification, Uncle Alfred sent the narrator packages of chocolate, coffee, Uncle Ben's rice, and soap (as if East Germans were dirty, too poor to buy soap, or unable to get clean with their own soap brands). He refused to visit, however, because he was afraid of travelling to the East. As soon as the Wall comes down, he drives to East Berlin with his Mercedes and takes the narrator and Kristina shopping for new clothes and to the most exclusive restaurant in Berlin for dinner. Uncle Alfred is charmed by what he sees as Kristina's "natural," naive behavior and attitude toward life, but disappointed with the narrator's lack of ambition. He wants the narrator to return to the university and finish the German literature degree which he began but broke off in 1968. He firmly believes the narrator was persecuted by the Stasi. The narrator laments: "Ich konnte sagen, was ich wollte, er war nicht davon abzubringen, ich war ein Verfolgter des Stasi-Regimes. Er arbeitete meine Vergangenheit auf, und ich war ein Opfer" (81). In the figure of Uncle Alfred encountered by the narrator, Schirmer satirizes the typical wealthy, condescending, prejudiced Western German when he appears in an Eastern German setting. Like Uncle Alfred, all of the narrator's Eastern German friends are also types. Schirmer flattens their personalities so they can represent others affected by unification. If the narrator has taken it on himself to care for the giraffe, few others in the novel, including most of these friends, notice her presence because they are consumed by their own affairs and problems. In order to identify them with particular groups, Schirmer introduces a play on words, a traditional comic and satirical technique, in the "sprechenden Namen" (meaning-bearing names) he

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provides for the narrator's friends. Educated professionals, they held privileged positions in the GDR, but now they must find other ways to earn a living. All of them, along with the narrator, lost their jobs after unification. Bröckle, a history professor, plays the lottery, bets on horse races, and enters various contests in an effort to win some money, eventually opening a GDR nostalgia theme bar in the deserted house next door. A Marxist who believed in the progressive development of history, Bröckle now ironically allows his fate to be determined by the outcome of games of chance. The narrator comments with humorous naiveté about Bröckle's new profession as barkeeper: "Ich hatte noch nie einen Geschichtsprofessor mit einer kurzen, braunen Lederschürze gesehen" (119). "Bröckeln" in German is what happens when something decays and gradually disintegrates—an appropriate name for an aging history professor living in a dilapidated East Berlin apartment. The narrator's other friend, Kleingrube, formerly an archivist, spends his days seeking out and exposing opportunists, i.e., Eastern Germans who openly supported the GDR state but then became ardent capitalists in the FRG, denying their past GDR affiliations. "Kleingrube," meaning "little grave" or "dug-out," points to the archivist's pedantic digging activities. It is ironic that these individuals, who held academic positions in a socialist workers' state, are now forced to be small-time entrepreneurs or to struggle to survive on unemployment benefits under capitalism. Although characterized with irony, their fates are drawn from reality. Self-Reflexive Satire: Coming to Terms with Past and Present through Writing A final angle which remains to be explored is the view that this novel, in typical satirical style, is a self-reflexive text. The entire novel may be interpreted as a comment on the use of language, the role of the East German author after unification, and how (s)he comes to terms with the past through writing. Schirmer's narrator, himself a writer, reflects on the position of the author in post-unification Eastern Germany. In Chapter 4 he visits a local bookstore to find out more about giraffes, which presents him with an occasion to reflect on the fate of GDR authors and their books after unification: Als ich meinen Blick über die Büchertische schweifen ließ, wurde ich immer verwirrter. Es waren vorwiegend Bücher, die ich nicht kannte. Die Autoren, die mir geläufig waren, fehlten. Sie standen auch nicht in den Regalen. Also mußte stimmen, was ich gehört hatte. Ihre Bücher waren, da sie nicht mehr abzusetzen waren, eingestampft oder gar, da sie nicht länger gelagert werden konnten, verbrannt worden. (15)

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A few minutes later, while the saleswoman searches for a book on the psychology of giraffes, he thinks to himself: Ich war wieder für mich allein und dachte über die Schriftsteller nach, deren Bücher nicht mehr angeboten wurden, weil sie keiner mehr kaufen und keiner mehr lesen wollte, weil die Zeiten über sie hinweggegangen waren. Ich hatte plötzlich eine Vision. Ich sah all die Schriftsteller, zweihundert oder dreihundert, vor ihren zweihundert oder dreihundert Schreibmaschinen sitzen und neue Bücher schreiben. Sie schwitzten, sie schrieben in fieberhafter Eile. Sie arbeiteten die Vergangenheit auf, sie suchten sie hektisch zu bewältigen, die Vergangenheit. Mir wurde auf einmal schwarz vor Augen. (15)

These thoughts are a self-reflexive moment in the novel, and extremely ironic. Why are all these Eastern German authors working so feverishly to finish their books? Why can the narrator not find their books at the bookstore? As a mass, horrific image, this scene displays a similar grotesquerie as in Orson Welles's depictions of the typists in the office building where Josef K. works in the film version of The Trial. This vision indicates that the writers are trying both to catch up with the times and to produce a book which will sell. After the Wende, because East German authors were no longer supported financially by the socialist government, they were forced to produce popular, up-to-date works which would appeal to a wide reading public. The narrator's observations are also ironic, however, because he himself is writing down the events as he has lived them. They are self-reflexive because Schlehweins Giraffe is Bernd Schirmer's contribution to "Vergangenheitsbewältigung." Both the text's title and its ostensible contents suggest that Schirmer is mainly writing the story of a giraffe as told through the eyes of the narrator, but it is clear that he also belongs to this group. This attempt by the author to distract the reader from the "true" purpose of his text is a satirical device. Schirmer uses it to set himself apart from other authors hoping to capitalize on their accounts of the past. Schirmer provides a prominent example of one of these authors in the persona he creates called Ralph B. Schneiderheinze. Schneiderheinze is a GDR author who was dissatisfied with the GDR and claims to have been a critic of the socialist regime. Now he criticizes Western Germany's policies in Eastern Germany. Schneiderheinze resembles the narrator physically, having the same curly beard and protruding ears, as well as wearing the same clothes. (This description startlingly calls to mind the photograph of Bernd Schirmer at the front of the book.) The narrator's sole moment of public recognition occurs when he is approached by a literary critic at a party and mistaken for Schneiderheinze. Schneiderheinze is an exaggeration of the type of GDR author who walked a fine line between conforming to governmental art regulations and criticizing the system's failures. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on one's

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perspective, Schneiderheinze's critiques were so subtle and so hidden that no one noticed them: "Er hat immer kreuzbrave Bücher geschrieben, die er allerdings für sehr kritisch hielt. Er glaubte ständig, den Bogen zu überspannen, nur merkte es keiner, denn seine Kritik war so maßvoll, so versteckt und verschlüsselt, daß sie nicht wahrgenommen wurde" (43). Shortly before unification he began writing the novel to bring about a revolution in his country, but before he could finish it, the revolution broke out and Germany was unified: "Am liebsten wäre es ihm gewesen, es wäre, so sehr er die Wende auch herbeisehnte, langsamer gegangen mit ihr, damit er sie noch gebührend hätte vorbereiten können mit seinem Buch" (45). Here Schirmer mocks GDR authors who claim to have anticipated the revolution and even encouraged it by writing subversive texts. The fictional author's name bears meaning, too: a "Schneider" is a tailor, someone who sews things together; "Heinz" is a common German name, and a "Heinze" is a wooden frame for drying straw or a boot-jack. Implied is that Schneiderheinze is a kind of tailor's helper or servant, opportunistic and obsequious. The pinnacle of Schirmer's satiric portrayal occurs during a reading Schneiderheinze gives in a former East Berlin Kulturhaus. The only people present at the reading are the author, the narrator, and the same literary critic who had mistaken the narrator for the author at a party a few years earlier. Schneiderheinze reads from his latest novel, a fairy tale about an old, plump prince who marries a simple but beautiful young maiden and proceeds to use and abuse her until she refuses to tolerate his attitude and behavior any longer and kills him. She is sent to prison but feels freer than she had while living with the prince (115-17). As a transparent parable, this fairy tale's crass condemnation of German unification is clearly intended to be read as a satire of Eastern German authors who only write negative texts about Western Germany's role in unification while glorifying Eastern Germany. The literary critic is also not spared an ironic treatment. His only comments about the fairy tale are that it is "defätistisch-grämlich" and "pessimistisch-düster," and that it defeats the purpose of literature, which is to give people courage (117-118). The critic adheres to tenets held by official GDR literary critics who maintained that literature should be optimistic and encouraging. Differing from Rosenlöcher's poet-narrator, who eventually adopts a new, altered identity and only regains the ability to write poetry at the end of his journey, Schirmer's unemployed comma editor/recycling collector, whose writing constitutes the entire text of Schlehweins Giraffe, neither finds a new identity nor a new job. Instead, after "viel Zeit [ist] vergangen" (121) he encounters his ex-wife on the street by chance and the two plan an uncertain future together: "Haut an Haut, Atem in Atem, haben wir

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uns überlegt, wie das alles weitergehen soll. Vielleicht könnten wir, um etwas Geld zu verdienen, mit der Giraffe zum Zirkus gehen. Vorausgesetzt, die Giraffe wird evaluiert. Den Antrag haben wir gleich am nächsten Morgen gestellt, aber es hieß, wir müßten lange warten. […] Mal sehen, wie alles weitergeht" (123). The ridiculous need to evaluate and exonerate the giraffe for her past, upheld throughout the text, gives the narrator a fantastical and absurd, but to him meaningful, focus for his otherwise aimless existence. Schirmer invents a giraffe to lampoon Eastern German nostalgia and plaintiveness, but also to serve as a sounding-board for his narrator. In speaking to the giraffe, an ignorant animal who mainly listens, the narrator reveals much more of his biography than Rosenlöcher's protagonist. Schirmer's narrator has also had more time to experience and to reflect on his liminal environment, since he writes a few months after the official political unification, whereas Rosenlöcher's wanderer wrote his travelogue the summer prior to this event. A rather passive, unambitious man to begin with, now completely uncertain about his financial future, again like Rosenlöcher's narrator, it is the words he employs, collects, and manipulates that give his life shape and meaning. Because Schirmer's text portrays a man who has reached a more reflective and less active time in his life, the humorous, satirical, and ironic aspects of his text emerge more from how he contemplates about his environment through writing than from how he moves or acts within it.

Jens Sparschuh's Der Zimmerspringbrunnen Jens Sparschuh's more critical, satirical stance toward his protagonist distinguishes Hinrich Lobek from the above narrators. The fact that Sparschuh's satire is sharper in its portrayal of an Eastern German "loser" most likely results from the fact that the novel-length text was written later than the other two: Der Zimmerspringbrunnen, published in 1995, depicts the Eastern German situation three years after unification. By this time Hinrich Lobek, unemployed like Schirmer's narrator, has tried for years to find a job after having been "abgewickelt" from his former GDR Communal Housing Administration position. Like him, he also lives in the Prenzlauer Berg district of Berlin with his estranged wife Julia and their pretentiously-named dog, Hasso vom Rabenhorst. A unification success story, with her full-time office job, feminist friend, and extramarital affair, Julia supplies a strong contrast to Hinrich, who putters around, as the first chapter heading describes it: "Eins zwei drei Jahre als Jäger in den eigenen vier Wänden" (9).

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Like Rosenlöcher's and Schirmer's narrators, Lobek seeks meaning and fulfillment in his out-of-joint life. Unfortunately, he is too young to retire and too old to be considered a serious candidate for a new job at a time when millions of people are unemployed. Having been unemployed for three years has left its mark on his personality: lack of contact with other people has caused his communication skills to suffer, and he is unable to see through his delusions of being able to maintain stability and order within his crumbling world. When he finally receives a position as a salesman for decorative indoor fountains, he convinces himself that if only he can succeed in this new career, he will be able to rekindle his relationship with his wife and regain the happiness he has lost. Since his comically exaggerated speechlessness and ridiculously self-centered view of the world prove virtually incurable, however, he is doomed to fail at his goals, despite his eventual ironic success as a salesman. On a microcosmic level, Der Zimmerspringbrunnen satirizes the typical Eastern German who is doomed to fail in the transition from "socialism" to "capitalism" because of his socialized, defective communication skills. A parody of a former Stasi official, he becomes obsessed with observation and listing, and unemployment renders him insensitive to others' needs. For these reasons, Sparschuh's protagonist cannot adapt as easily as Rosenlöcher's or Schirmer's to a post-GDR society. On a macrocosmic level, the text pokes fun at the salesman's profession within an intensely competitive, free-market context and how this profession, completely foreign to Eastern Germans prior to the Wende, is viewed from their perspective in the early transitional phase of unification. In the following sections I elucidate how Sparschuh configures his protagonist satirically by providing him with an exaggerated optimism and a fateful communication disorder, both of which paradoxically help him as a salesman and hinder him as a husband, eventually undermining his identity and his ability to maintain the initial success he achieves in his new profession. Hinrich Lobek's Exaggerated Optimism as Epic Humor According to Wolfgang Preisendanz, "epic humor" is created whenever there is a tension between a text's subject matter and the way this subject matter is presented; it is "die (scheinbare) Unangemessenheit von Vorgang und Vortrag."26 In other words, "epic humor" is produced when the way an author writes does not correspond to the way a participant might _____________ 26

Wolfgang Preisendanz, Humor als dichterische Einbildungskraft. Studien zur Erzählkunst des poetischen Realismus, 2nd. ed. (München: Fink, 1976) 11, 15.

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actually experience an event. A common example of this practice is when an author describes someone's death in a lighthearted manner. Although all authors in this study produce epic humor, Jens Sparschuh's comical and satirical way of converting his protagonist's truly tortuous life into a funny and entertaining narrative represents an extreme case of the contrast between literature and reality. This literature-versus-reality contrast emerges from Sparschuh's portrayal of Hinrich Lobek as a contradictory figure who, like Rosenlöcher's and Schirmer's narrators, possesses self-irony, creativity, and a clever ability to manipulate language, but is completely unable to communicate these positive sides of his personality to the outside world except in written, narrative form.27 The narrator offers a plausible reason for his introversion, namely, that his years at the GDR Communal Housing Authority demoralized him because most of the renters' complaints he filed were never resolved, since the Housing Authority was far behind in supplying labor and material for housing repairs: "Worte halfen da nicht. Ich wußte auch nichts zu sagen und begann, mich in Schweigen zu hüllen" (138). Yet, his communication disorder still appears absurd. As first-person narrator he is perfectly able to employ language eloquently while writing his autobiography. Furthermore, despite his desperate situation, he still communicates an exaggeratedly optimistic enthusiasm. Like Rosenlöcher and Schirmer, in constructing his narrator, Sparschuh has Hinrich Lobek manipulate language to produce comical and satirical effects. Feeling trapped within and thus resenting his unemployed, liminal status, Lobek cynically renames the birds he observes from his window "Insektenvertilger" (13). The fact that not all changes initiated by Western Germany appeal to him leads him to designate Western German bread rolls "die importierten Luftikusse" (39). Likening his isolation to that of Robinson Crusoe on a deserted island, he renames his dog "Freitag," alluding to Crusoe's native companion (20). In a desperate attempt to acquire the advertised salesman job he finds in the newspaper, he rewords his GDR resumé from "Bin seit meiner Schulzeit überzeugter Vertreter der sozialistischen Ordnung" to "Langjährige Erfahrungen im Vertreterbereich" (20-21). In these instances, Lobek uses language as a means to strike out against the inevitable changes in his environment, which, since they appear absurd to him, he aptly describes with ironic exaggeration: _____________ 27

He also cannot communicate effectively with his wife in the short, written notes he occasionally gives her.

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Ohne auch nur den Fuß vor die Tür zu setzen, hatte ich mein altes Heimatland verlassen (bzw.—es mich). Eines Tages stand, wie von einem Flugzeug abgeworfen, der Container einer neuen Versicherung auf der grauen Wiese vor unserem verwitterten Neubaublock (das "Basislager", wie ich es in meinem Protokollbuch nannte). Von dort aus schwärmten die Missionare in die umliegende Gegend aus. Auch die Sparkasse war eine andere geworden, sie nannte sich jetzt Bank und schickte mir diskret, nach einem unergründlichen Bankgeheimnis, immer neue Geheimnummern für mein fast leeres Konto zu [. . .]. Sogar die Postanschrift hatte sich von heute auf morgen geändert [. . .] heimlich, über Nacht sozusagen, waren wir aus unserer Straße umgezogen worden. Sie trug jetzt einen anderen Namen. (38)

Like Rosenlöcher, Schirmer, and countless other Eastern Germans, Sparschuh has his narrator compare the Westernization of his environment to an imperialist act of colonization. Because the changes are so sudden, ubiquitous, and confusing, Lobek does not greet them with a positive attitude. To him the temporary insurance office trailers appear to have been dropped from an airplane as in a military maneuver, and the insurance salesmen themselves appear as missionaries premeditating the conversion of Eastern Germans to a new way of life. The bank's new procedures are unfathomable, and the sudden receipt of a new address is uncanny. Sparschuh grants Lobek an ironic and cynical view of unification's effects as a way to critique them and to highlight Lobek's transitional status. Although Lobek is not enthusiastic about such structural changes, he does take seriously the felicitous convergence of several coincidences that persuade him to try his luck on the job market once again, despite expecting his efforts to be in vain. Like Schirmer's unemployed history professor Bröckle, who attempts to improve his fate by gambling, Lobek places his trust in the following horoscope prediction: Liebe: Rosige Zeiten sind in Sicht. Das Glück läuft ihnen nun nach. Sie erleben eine unvergeßliche Woche. Beruf: Ein Plan entwickelt sich etwas ungewöhnlich. Kein Grund zur Beunruhigung. Treffen Sie Entscheidungen jetzt! Allgemeines: Bleiben Sie gelassen. Durch überlegtes Handeln können Sie gewinnen. Es kann nur besser werden! (9)

For a man who struggles to think and act rationally, his superstitious belief in the truth of this horoscope prophecy already appears odd; his optimistic response to this horoscope, however, provides a further, ironic contrast to his mask of rationality. The optimistic message and exclamation points in this horoscope have apparently directly influenced his response: "Endlich, endlich! Mein HALLO-BERLINWochenhoroskop hatte grünes Licht gegeben!" (9). With a comically exaggerated naiveté, he takes these horoscope predictions from a tabloid

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newspaper literally and, stumbling on a promising employment advertisement in the same newspaper ("Wenn Sie auf 5000,– DM und mehr im Monat verzichten können, brauchen Sie nicht weiterzulesen . . ." [12]), sends in his resumé. When the invitation to a salesman's training conference in Western Germany arrives unexpectedly by mail one month later, Lobek revels in his good luck. Paradoxically, however, he is unable to convey his excitement to his wife or to anyone else. Fearing that her lover (also her office supervisor) is present when he calls her at work, Lobek panics and hangs up the phone when she answers. Closing the curtains in his apartment, he celebrates alone with Beethoven's pathos-laden "Ninth Symphony" as his only company: "Mich selbst legte ich aufs Sofa. Die Platte drehte sich. Alles drehte sich. Alles drehte sich um mich" (22). Lobek's reaction to this good news represents his general reaction to any positive or negative change in his life. Instead of sharing his experience with another person and thus establishing a relationship, he chooses to celebrate (or suffer) alone. Even his dog, Freitag, cannot awaken Lobek's sympathy. Since Lobek views the dog as a nuisance, to the point that he neglects to feed him regularly, even this avenue of establishing a connection with another living being—which worked for Schirmer's narrator with the giraffe—is blocked to him. His alienation, exacerbated by his selfish attitude and inability to speak, turns his life into a tragicomical farce that contrasts blatantly with the laughter produced by Sparschuh's comical narrative techniques and language use. Lobek's Symptomatic Speechlessness Lobek's inability to communicate with others verbally, a repressed aspect of his personality, leads to the diversion and transference of his thoughts and emotions into non-verbal, passive-aggressive behaviors. These behaviors, which appear comical from an outsider's perspective because of their compulsive repetition—resembling Bergsonian idées fixes—include an obsession with list-making as a means to organize his thoughts, the acquisition of compensatory phrases to which he can resort when forced to interact with others, and the maintenance of a "Protokollbuch." The last activity is a habit he picked up when he was required to record maintenance complaints while working as a Communal Housing Inspector in the GDR. Now he uses this staccato stenographic writing method to take notes even he cannot understand at the salesman's training conference he attends and, inappropriately, to record his wife Julia's every

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move. In the end his "Protokollbuch" combines the functions of a personal diary, a notebook, and a Stasi report. The comically disjointed, paranoid language he writes in the "Protokollbuch" mirrors his depressed and detached self. In it he calls his wife Julia "Observationsobjekt J.," and when she accuses him of spying on her, he contradicts himself by writing: "Infame Vorwürfe!—Julia, sehr erregt (das entschuldigt aber nichts), behauptet heute: ich würde ihr nachspionieren und—wörtlich!—'in einem Protokollbuch' (!!!) jeden ihrer Schritte verzeichnen" (18). This scene shows how deluded Lobek is because he believes he can somehow influence his wife not by speaking to her directly, but rather by recording her words and activities. Another scene further illustrates Lobek's disturbed thought processes and pathological inability to communicate, which lead him to rely on lists to order his thoughts. When Julia gets angry with him for not having cleaned up a huge mess the dog makes, Lobek does not argue with her aloud but repeats in his head from one to eight the selling tips he has memorized from the sales representative's manual. When she finally storms out of the room, not letting him reply to her barrage, he ponders: "Selbst ein gemeingefährlicher Verbrecher hat das Recht auf Verteidigung. [. . .] Das letzte Wort in einem ordentlich geführten Verfahren gebührt schließlich dem Angeklagten. Leben wir denn nun in einem Rechtsstaat, Julia, oder nicht? Es ist doch überhaupt nicht einzusehen, weshalb in einem Ehestreit nicht wenigstens die Regeln der Strafprozeßordnung gelten sollten" (66).

Here, the disparity between Lobek's "legalese" and the existential marriage crisis demonstrates Lobek's humorous inability to communicate in any situation. Soon after this fight, Julia moves out of their apartment. Lobek's communication problem, self-centered worldview, and idée fixe that if he can just be successful in his career, everything else will fall into place, are initially funny; however, since these personal issues are not resolved within the novel, they lead to his demise. Test the West: How Lobek Learns the Salesman's Trade Lobek's speechlessness appears blatantly comical in the job he finally lands as a sales representative for the Western German "Zimmerspringbrunnen" ("indoor fountain") company, PANTA RHEIn, hoping this will be the springboard to get back on his feet. Sparschuh intentionally selects this unnecessary, expensive item as the product which Lobek must sell door-to-door to often unemployed and depressed Eastern Germans to intensify the absurdity of the situation. The company name, a deeply resonant Greek expression meaning "everything flows," is a pun on

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the Rhine location of the company headquarters as well as a jab at marketing strategies that use pompous advertising language to lend products a cultivated, elite aura.28 Lobek's first-hand encounters with Western German salesmen illustrate the artificiality of the Western German business world. Before he can begin his new sales career, he must attend a training conference in the small town of Bad Sülz29 in Baden-Württemberg. Learning a new profession has its pitfalls, and Lobek, the Eastern German greenhorn, has his own particular difficulties learning to become a sales representative à la Western Germany. Believing appearance to be the key to success, he dresses in a blackberry-colored suit, the tasteless epitome of business fashion in Eastern Germany in the early nineties, and carries an empty black briefcase in order to legitimate his presence: "Zum Glück hatte ich den schwarzen Aktenkoffer bei mir. Er war zwar leer, verschaffte mir aber eine gewisse Legitimation" (27). In his nervousness he chokes on a piece of smoked ham when the company owner, a typical suave Western German business manager, Alois Boldinger, approaches to greet him (3537). Choking prevents—and saves—Lobek from having to speak to Boldinger. When the time comes for him to role-play the salesman in front of the other representatives, however, his blundering saves the day. Sitting across from the acting "customer," Lobek, once again at a loss for words, presses the fountain's "on" button and accidentally squirts himself in the face. As Lobek wipes his eyes with a handkerchief, Boldinger comes to the front of the crowd and praises him for his ingenious sales tactics: "Boldinger sah mich bewundernd an, wie man eine exotische Pflanze ansieht: 'Herrschaften, das nenne ich östliche Ruhe und meditative Kraft! Ja, Mensch, auch wir hier im Westen können von Ihnen lernen. Durchaus!'" (52-53). This meeting between an Easterner and his new boss in a Western setting further illustrates the comic clash of mentalities and cultures unification produced. Whereas the sophisticated Western German businessman always produces articulate utterances, the uninitiated Eastern German is rendered speechless. To increase the comic effect of the _____________ 28

29

The highly influential pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Heraklitos (c. 544-483 B.C.), who believed the cosmos is in a ceaseless state of flux and motion and that the Logos ("the word") provides the underlying order or reason to this change, in effect, holding the universe together, was the first westerner to articulate this theme, expressed as "panta rhei." In using these words, Sparschuh thus also comments on unification as a time of change belonging to the natural flow of the universe and on how his narrator's world falls apart when the language he used in the GDR is replaced by a new, Western German language. The rest of the phrase, known as fragment 20, can be found in Hermann Diels, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, 5th ed. (Berlin: Weidmann, 1934). "Bad Sülz," a fictional place name, also contains a hidden critique of Western Germany. "Sülze" is headcheese, or pickled pork; the verb "sülzen" means to babble.

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meeting, Sparschuh has Boldinger respond entirely differently to Lobek's comic blunder than one would anticipate, fulfilling Immanuel Kant's theory of humor as the unexpected. Despite experiencing luck in encounters with the head of PANTA RHEIn, during the rest of the training conference, Lobek is confused about Western salesmen's tactics. Summarizing them in his notebook, the end result of his efforts is a confusing semantic hodgepodge: Menschenbild; "Unser Kunde—was ist das? Ein feindliches Wesen, das es zu besiegen gilt? Ein Freund, den wir nur geduldig überzeugen müssen? Beides? Ein Doppelwesen? Wir wissen es nicht. Ein Dunkel über dieser Frage –"; deshalb: Psychographie, Soziodemographie alter und neuer (dazu später noch gesondert) Zielgruppen; man kann vor Ort nichts erwarten, wenn nicht vermittelt wird, daß ein ZSB (Zimmerspringbrunnen) mehr ist als eine Art "Luftbefeuchter" (allgemeine Heiterkeit im Saal!); Warnung vor der x-mal gehörten Frage "Wozu brauche ich das? Was nützt mir das?" [...] "Nutzen" umfassender definieren— Ausbruch aus engen Nützlichkeitserwägungen, Stichwort 'Sinnkrise', Stichwort 'Zukunftsangst'; ZSB als ein "Ort spiritueller Ich-Erfahrung" [. . .]. (31)

Coming from Eastern Germany, a place where marketing strategies and product aesthetics were not top priority and extravagant luxury items such as indoor fountains were virtually nonexistent, Lobek is understandably confused by the sophistication of these Western marketing techniques. Like Rosenlöcher's and Schirmer's narrators, Lobek needs time to get accustomed to the Western consumerist perspective of life. Despite his initial confusion, however, he is deeply impressed with Boldinger's speaking skills, admitting naively: Natürlich nicht alles in Boldingers Rede hatte ich auf Anhieb verstanden; und die zahlreich gebrachten Details schwirrten mir noch, ohne daß ich sie recht hätte einordnen können, ziemlich zusammenhangslos im Kopf herum. Aber die Art, wie Direktor Boldinger gesprochen hatte—abgeklärt, ohne Rechthaberei, eher fragend, immer das Ganze vor Augen –, das hatte mir doch stark imponiert (32).

Having the naive Lobek be impressed so easily by Western German flair, exposed here as a cleverly devised façade, Sparschuh satirizes both Eastern German ignorance due to inexperience and scientifically calculated Western German salesmen's marketing tactics that aim to deceive consumers by distracting them from the fact that all products offered have been produced for profit. Despite Lobek's inspirational performance at one of the workshops and his generally successful completion of the training conference, in the end he is overwhelmed by the barrage of impressions he has absorbed. Returning to his hotel room on the last evening, he suddenly recognizes that he is a foreigner in his own country. Becoming nostalgic for the GDR, he exclaims: "auf einmal, ich wußte nicht, wie, kam es über mich, und ich mußte hier [...] plötzlich, ohne mich wehren zu können, wie

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zwanghaft, einen Satz sagen, der mir so bisher noch nie in meinem Leben von den Lippen gekommen war: 'Ich liebe meine Heimat, die Deutsche Demokratische Republik'" (54-55). Only by confronting the Western Other directly and perceiving essential differences can he conceive of his identity as specifically Eastern German. As is the case with the other two narrators in this chapter, since Lobek cannot adapt quickly to East-West differences, he constructs his identity by rejecting the West. Notwithstanding Sparschuh's generally amusing, satirical treatment of Western and Eastern German interactions, as with Schirmer and Rosenlöcher, the seriousness of Lobek's circumstances and of the EastWest conflict gradually emerges. In a later encounter between Lobek and his salesman mentor, Uwe Strüver, Sparschuh highlights Western German patronization of and disrespect for Eastern Germans. The way Strüver treats Lobek is indicative of Western German attitudes toward Eastern Germans in general. First, Strüver inappropriately suggests they use the familiar du form of address, even though he is younger than Lobek. Lobek reflects on the situation thus: Er war, sah man genau hin, mindestens zehn, fünfzehn Jahre jünger als ich. Insofern hätte eigentlich ich ihm das Du anbieten müssen. Aber schließlich, er war der Westmensch; da hatte er bei mir wahrscheinlich gleich automatisch ein paar Jährchen von den 40 Jahren DDR-Leben abgezogen, denn richtig gelebt hatten wir ja nicht. (112)

By this time Lobek has already absorbed and internalized Western German prejudices. According to Western Germans like Strüver, the Eastern German experience is not worthy of being considered “living” at all: "Das war ja kein Leben bei euch! Die Zeitungen waren keine Zeitungen. Die Wahlen waren keine Wahlen. Die Straßen keine Straßen. Nicht mal die Autos waren Autos" (112). Lobek ponders Strüver's words: "Innerlich mußte ich ihm in allen Punkten recht geben. Aber, was zum Kuckuck war es dann, was wir die ganze Zeit getrieben haben? Wer weiß. Man muß es schon selbst erlebt haben, um es nicht zu verstehen ..." (112). Here, Sparschuh demonstrates poignantly how Western German attitudes can undermine the Eastern German collective self-image by calling Eastern Germans' entire life experience into question. Insulting Western behavior like this, combined with accusations and prejudices, leads all three narrators to question their past lives and present identities. Fredric V. Bogel describes satire as "that literary form that works to convert an ambiguous relation of identification and division into one of pure division."30 By satirizing Western Germans, these authors erect a _____________ 30

Fredric V. Bogel, "The Difference Satire Makes: Reading Swift's Poems," Theorizing Satire: Essays in Literary Criticism, ed. Brian A. Connery and Kirk Combe (New York: St. Martin's, 1995) 43-53, 46.

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boundary between their narrators and Western Germans, whom the narrators see as intruding outsiders, contrary to official unification rhetoric that Western and Eastern Germans are ein Volk. In making this division, these narrators (and authors) assert their identity as a defense against the larger, dominant Western German culture. The Rise and Fall of a Salesman The last, major comical incidents in Lobek's life occur during his rise to success as a salesman. This ascension only takes place after he has undergone several trials (and errors) with various Eastern German customers, including the unemployed (73, 76), the alcoholic (74-75), the lonely housewife (80-82), and others. Each encounter appears comical either because of the contrast between Uwe Strüver's and Lobek's calculated salesman's behavior and the naïve behavior of the potential Eastern customers, or because the product the two men wish to sell—a decorative indoor fountain—is obviously the last item the Eastern Germans need. Proof that a superfluous product such as an indoor fountain is neither needed nor desirable in the East is the fact that sales initially remain pitifully low. The only way out of this salesman's trap is for Lobek to create a new type of indoor fountain that can appeal to a specifically Eastern German taste. Just as his decision to apply for the salesman's position was based on a fortunate horoscope prediction, the method he adopts to construct a type of indoor fountain that can appeal to Eastern Germans is the result of a series of chance events and unconsciously inspired, creative gestures. After his dog drinks all the water from one of the fountains set up in his apartment (called "JONA" because of its whale shape) so that parts of it burn and melt, Lobek works desperately to undo the damage. In rebuilding the fountain, he invents a new model. Proudly displaying a pen in the shape of the Berlin TV tower on top, the now volcano-shaped fountain bears a copper plate sawed in the shape of the GDR. His choice of a name for the model is also haphazard: "Als ich, spät nach Mitternacht (Freitag, der Sünder, schlief schon längst), den ersten Probelauf durchführte, wußte ich sofort: es muß ATLANTIS heißen" (95). This model proceeds to sell faster than Lobek can produce it, demonstrating the power of nostalgic feelings and mocking Eastern German bad taste at the same time. Whereas Rosenlöcher wistfully sentimentalizes GDR consumer products such as Ruhla watches, and Schirmer packages "ostalgic" feelings in the form of a talking giraffe, Sparschuh lampoons these "ostalgic" feelings through Lobek's construction of a horrendous

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new type of indoor fountain for the ex-GDR market, guaranteed to sell by assuaging Eastern German bruised egos. In a further mocking gesture, Sparschuh titles the Atlantis fountain breakthrough chapter "Haifischbecken der Gefühle" (83). Despite Lobek's immense success as the salesman of the above nostalgic "Kultgegenstand" (105), he still cannot overcome his speechlessness. Toward the novel's end, when he listlessly takes his compulsory Christmas vacation, this speechlessness becomes acute: "Im Radio kam mein Lieblingslied, ein englisches: words are very unnecessary. [...] In den Tagen seit ich wieder zu Hause saß, hatten sich die wenigen Wörter, mit denen ich meine letzten Vorweihnachtsverkaufsgespräche bestritten hatte, verloren. Sie waren verschwunden. Sie hatten wahrscheinlich ihren wohlverdienten Urlaub angetreten" (143). By this time, Lobek has become so alienated from spoken words, they appear to have taken on a life of their own, leaving him in silence. Throughout Der Zimmerspringbrunnen Lobek fails to communicate properly, though his success as a salesman gradually grows, and his relationship to his wife suffers in an inverse proportion, eventually leading to his complete alienation not only from her, but also from his job. By the time he realizes his mistake—finally speaking to the dog for lack of a human conversation partner: "[d]as Leben, Mensch, das Leben ist unendlich viel mehr als Fressen, Gassi und Glotze! Man kann nicht so wie du bloß in den Tag hineinleben. Das Leben muß doch einen Sinn haben, einen Sinn, verstehst du!" (131-132)—it is too late for him to revive his failed marital relationship. He ends up as a homeless bum indefinitely waiting with Freitag at the train station for her return. To be sure, Sparschuh's narrator-based humor is less conciliatory and more critical than Schirmer's or Rosenlöcher's. At first, the reader laughs more often at Lobek than with him, until his situation becomes so tragic that the laughter dies. Yet although Sparschuh's satirical critiques seem to be aimed at Eastern Germans and their attempts to conform to Western expectations (the novel bears the ironic subtitle "Ein Heimatroman"), "eigentlich richtet sich die Komik des bemüht witzig und penetrant anspielungsreich erzählenden Autors nicht gegen die Ossis, sondern gegen die kapitalistische Bluffgesellschaft und ihre leicht hinters Licht zu führenden Kunden" (Emmerich 505). In holding up a mirror to the West, Sparschuh presents a type of humor that both Western and Eastern readers can comprehend. He not only constructs differences, but also similarities between the two groups. Asked in an interview how he came up with the motif of an indoor fountain for Der Zimmerspringbrunnen, Sparschuh responded:

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Also es gab, und gibt bis heute, in irgendwelchen Zeitungen Werbung von einer Firma aus Niedersachsen, die solche Geräte vertreibt. Ich habe auch mal für 14 Tage einen Job an der Pädagogischen Hochschule in Freiburg gearbeitet und war in einem Hotel untergebracht, wo viele Außendienstvertreter untergebracht waren. Ich unterhielt mich mit ihnen, und bekam ein bisschen von dem Elend dieses Berufsstandes mit. Da ich selbst auch so eine Art Vertreter meiner Bücher war, hatte ich den Blick eines Mitbetroffenen, weil ich genauso morgens zur Arbeit eilte und abends müde zum Hotel kam. Wir beklagten uns über den furchtbaren Zustand der Welt. Unsere Erfahrungen waren ganz identisch. Ich wollte danach ein Hörspiel schreiben, in dem jemand sich rüstet für seine Arbeit, morgens vor dem Spiegel steht und beim Gurgeln laut artikuliert, und dann wurde es eben ein Buch. (Appendix 4, 372)

Thus, ironically, it was Sparschuh's sympathy with Western German sales representatives and his recognition that his profession as an author and theirs as salesmen correlate in some respects that provided the spark of inspiration for the text. Like the previous two authors above, Sparschuh depicts intersections of Western and Eastern cultural influences as a "point of contact between distinct systems of identity and power."31 By depicting the intersections between these distinct systems with humor and satire, Sparschuh also questions the uneven balance of power and the role individuals can play in the maintenance or upsetting of this balance.

Conclusions: Transition and Liberation In the tradition of the picaresque novel Rosenlöcher, Schirmer, and Sparschuh all evoke humor through the exaggeration and repetition of similar, episodic narrative sequences. Not surprisingly, each narrator has difficulties adapting to his transitional state which include feelings of having lost his voice and of alienation, as well as of confusion, guilt, paranoia and the irrepressible compulsion to capture his experiences in writing. Although the authors depict their narrators largely as comical figures, in confrontational interactions in which Western Germans express negative or accusatory attitudes toward Eastern Germany, these depictions slide into the satirical. Whereas humor and the comic can be conciliatory, satire implies censure, and hence a more obvious attack. Although the authors satirize problems they have with the West, they also rejoice in the West as a site of liberation and hope. This liberation is _____________ 31

Karen Jankowsky, "'German' Literature Contested: The 1991 Ingeborg-Bachmann-Prize Debate, 'Cultural Diversity,' and Emine Sevgi Özdamar," The German Quarterly 70.3 (Summer 1997) 261-276, 263. Many of Jankowski's conclusions about Turkish-German identity issues pertain to East-West German identity issues, as well.

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expressed in two ways reserved for discussion until now: through scatological images and a new, more private, less political view of utopia. Beyond the existential similarities between these three texts, vulgar scatological and sexual elements also spice up and colloquialize them. These elements, generally looked down on in the GDR, constitute a way for the authors to express feelings of liberation and regeneration. Their use of them signifies a celebration of freedom from social, political, and psychological repression. Examples of such elements include: the dog and the giraffe in Der Zimmerspringbrunnen and Schlehweins Giraffe, which require constant care and clean-up. Hinrich Lobek, believing he is selling an indoor fountain to a physiotherapist, unwittingly winds up under the whip of a sado-masochist who leaves him with bloody welts on his back. This confrontation, resulting in severe physical pain, marks the beginning of Lobek's inner transformation, during which he realizes that in devoting himself to his work, he has neglected his wife. On his hike Rosenlöcher's author, caught skinny-dipping in a creek, is accused of being a pervert, tries later unsuccessfully to use a vibrating, talking outhouse from which five people eventually exit, and mistakes a bird for a feces pile—until it flies away. These scenes add to his comical misery, constituting further trials he must endure before reconfiguring his identity. The narrator in Schlehweins Giraffe has bizarre sexual affairs with his (ex-) wife; his intense guilt about having had sexual relations alternately with her and his friend Bröckle's wife appears comically trivial within the context of larger world events. In coming to terms with his guilt, however, he prepares himself for his wife's return and the reinvigoration of their relationship. This grotesquery appears funny for drawing attention to the physicality of the narrators and their world and contrasting starkly with "higher," more important unification issues. Henri Bergson writes that "[a]ny incident is comic that calls attention to the physical in a person, when it is the moral side that is concerned" (93). Scatological images lend these works a touch of the carnivalesque as Mikhail Bakhtin defines it in relation to Medieval "feasts of fools." In that context "[t]he negative derisive element was deeply immersed in the triumphant theme of bodily regeneration and renewal. It was 'man's second nature' that was laughing, the lower bodily stratum which could not express itself in official cult and ideology" (Bakhtin, Rabelais 75). Interpreted from this angle, the use of scatological images in literature, in other words, publicly depicting bodily functions normally "forbidden" or at least confined to the private sphere, can be viewed as an act of liberation and renewal not just in provoking laughter, but also in overturning heirarchies of propriety and ideology. Satire theorists like Helmut Arntzen emphasize that there is often a utopia implied behind satirical critiques. These three authors' concepts of

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utopia have also shifted after unification. Whereas under socialism utopian hopes and visions were expected to be fulfilled by an improved societal order, these authors' narrators look to the private sphere. Specifically, the narrators seek creative expression in the form of artistic production and look to their (ex-)wives as their source of happiness and moral support. While Rosenlöcher's and Schirmer's narrators rediscover both, in their ability to write their liminal, topsy-turvy experiences and in the revitalization of their love relationships, Sparschuh's Hinrich Lobek fails to derive fulfillment from his activities as a salesman, no matter how creative they may be, and loses his wife due to his communication disorder and inability to adapt to his new circumstances. These authors not only chronicle the events following unification, but they also comment on these events through their humorous and satirical approaches. Using these modes in a fictional context, all three distance themselves from actual events, creating a Brechtian-like alienated space to reflect on problems and conflicts. Their unusual texts play with, and thus alternatingly break down and build up, stereotypes about Eastern and Western Germans both before and after unification without assuming a plaintive or moralizing tone. Their depictions of bumbling, ambiguous, tragicomic figures encourage the reader to identify and sympathize with these protagonists: Eastern Germans can come to terms with their individual circumstances by recognizing that others have similar feelings and experiences associated with this difficult transition, and Western Germans as well as non-Germans can learn to appreciate and understand these difficulties from an Eastern German perspective.

Chapter 2 The Picaresque as a Means to Reckon with the GDR Thomas Brussig's Helden wie wir, Matthias Biskupek's Der Quotensachse, and Reinhard Ulbrich's Spur der Broiler By contrast to the authors discussed in Chapter 1, who composed their texts as spontaneous reactions to the Wende, Thomas Brussig, Matthias Biskupek, and Reinhard Ulbrich had a few years to ponder their transitional status before writing and publishing their novels in the mid1990s.1 Having gained a slightly greater temporal, experiential, and emotional distance from the GDR, these authors reflect much more on the past.2 Tracing their protagonists' biographies from birth in the GDR to the fall of the Berlin Wall and only briefly beyond, within a picaresque narrative framework that has been updated to reflect a specifically East(ern) German sociopolitical context, they display a more conscious and self-confident distancing from and reckoning with the GDR. The type of laughter they produce is more aggressive, raucous, and liberating than Rosenlöcher's, Schirmer's, or Sparschuh's generally defensive approaches, emerging as it does from an awareness and celebration of the fact that the conditions they satirize no longer exist.3 In Helden wie wir Brussig deflates the threatening aura of the GDR secret police by fabricating a tall tale of an implausibly neurotic Stasi trainee whose naiveté, inferiority complexes, _____________ 1

2

3

Brussig took three years, from 1992 to 1994, to write his novel, published in 1995. See Birgit Lahann, "Der Gigant aus dem Gartenzwerg," Stern 24 August 1995, 144-146, 145. Biskupek worked on Der Quotensachse (1996) from late 1994 to mid-1996. Ulbrich wrote Spur der Broiler (1998) relatively quickly, completing it within a few months in 1997. Erich Loest also displays this tendency in his postwall novels: the first, Katerfrühstück (1992), focuses mainly on the postwall period and how the past affects the reunified German present, while his later novel, Nikolaikirche (1995), exclusively chronicles GDR history, providing a detailed account of the events in Leipzig leading to the fall of the Wall. See Dieter Henrich on the "Komik der Befreiung" in "Freie Komik" (Preisendanz and Warning, Das Komische, 385-389, 389). Johanna Bohley discusses how humor functions as a liberating force in Helden wie wir and Günter Grass's Ein weites Feld, a Western German novel published the same year as Brussig's that also draws on picaresque conventions to problematize the German unifications of 1871 and 1990. See "Hoftaller, Uhltzscht und andere Helden. Konfigurationen des Komischen in der Nachwendeliteratur," Die Stasi in der deutschen Literatur, ed. Franz Huberth (Tübingen: Attempto, 2003) 157-174.

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and perverse sexual obsessions render him a social outcast, despite his pro-socialist stance. His perpetual bumbling eventually leads to the "penetration" of the Wall on November 9, 1989, when he exposes his accidentally induced, grotesquely enlarged penis to the East German border guards, shocking them into allowing the protesters to pass by into the West. Biskupek's picaresque rogue in Der Quotensachse, by contrast to Brussig's naïve Stasi "hero," is a recently elected Saxon politician who claims to have cleverly manipulated GDR citizens or institutions like the school system and the military, twisting every situation to his benefit. In a paradoxical, post-Wende turning of the tables for an East German who had not been a Stasi member, he creates a new secret police organization after unification to expose any Germans who do not support the Federal Republic. Ulbrich's protagonist in Spur der Broiler also finds ways to arrange a surprisingly adventurous, amusing, even decadent life for himself within a socialist system that the author depicts as albeit chronologically retroactive, yet credibly similar to the West. Because these narratives begin many years before the Wende and end shortly thereafter—only Biskupek additionally recounting his narrator's biography in unified Germany up to the mid-1990s—they highlight the biographical rupture it initiated. Because Brussig, Biskupek, and Ulbrich had been dissatisfied with and, in Biskupek's and Ulbrich's cases, openly critical of the GDR in their pre-1989 satirical texts, these authors could be expected to take a critical approach toward the past in their post-Wende texts.4 Beyond the authors' personal skeptical stance, the GDR system also lends itself to the satirical treatment it receives; the satirical mode is demonstrated here to be an appropriate and effective means to deal with past experiences. Resulting primarily from the government's failure to implement many Marxist tenets it openly espoused, contradictions and absurdities in "real existing socialism" were blatant. Many other GDR authors besides these three had already adopted satire in the past as a literary mode to point out ideological and societal problems. Wolf Biermann, Volker Braun, Günter de Bruyn, Christoph Hein, Hermann Kant, Irmtraud Morgner, and Ulrich Plenzdorf are just a few East German writers of satire to have entered the _____________ 4

In light of the fact that Brussig was still relatively young—only 24 years old in 1989—and did not have his writing published before unification, one can only speculate whether he would have dared to critique the GDR openly while it existed. His first novel, Wasserfarben, published in 1991 under the pseudonymn Cordt Berneburger, draws heavily on J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, criticizing GDR society and schools for demanding conformity. Biskupek wrote many critical cabaret texts performed in the GDR, and has been writing short stories and articles for the East German satirical magazine Eulenspiegel from the late 1970s to the present. Ulbrich currently works as a member of the editorial staff of the Eulenspiegel, and had contributed satirical texts to this magazine before unification.

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German literary canon for critiquing the GDR incisively as undemocratic and repressive.5 Postwall satire differs from GDR satire in various ways, however. Socialist realism had mandated that literature and the arts play a didactic role in the GDR, in effect restricting an author's freedom. Even satirical texts were supposed to be prescriptive, in other words, to be critiques that would encourage GDR citizens to bring about positive societal changes. Moral critiques of unproductive, bourgeois character types or attacks on capitalism and imperialism were encouraged, but not those that called the socialist ideology, the government, or the Stasi into question. Censorship procedures, in the form of "staatlichen Druckgenehmigungsverfahren," were revised and loosened up in the GDR after the X. Schriftstellerkongreß in November 1987, when prominent author Christoph Hein called for their abolishment, but they had been implemented up to that point. The requirement to receive publication permission from the state would have posed difficulties for Brussig, Biskupek, and Ulbrich if they had attempted to publish novels as critical as these before the Wall fell.6 After the Wende authors can now tell stories that censorship in the past would have suppressed. Using more overt, less nuanced satire, the picaresque, and the grotesque in dealing with GDR history and society, these novels thus differ from most pre-1989 satires published in the GDR.7 Whereas East German authors expected readers to "read between the lines" to find their more or less hidden critiques, those writing after the Wende, relishing their _____________ 5

6

7

Alongside the above authors and several from the Prenzlauer Berg scene, there also exists a large group of lesser-known GDR satirists and humorists who for various reasons have received little or no critical attention. The most apparent reasons for their lack of recognition outside East Germany are the poor literary quality of their works, their apolitical nature, their conformity to government ideology, or their adherence to less popular genres like short stories or plays. Many of these authors found willing publishers in the satirical magazines Frischer Wind or Eulenspiegel. Hans-Georg Stengel, Henryk Keisch, Gerhard Branstner, Lothar Kusche, and Renate Holland-Moritz belong to this group of more or less state-supported authors. See Klaus Höpcke, "Wie es 1988 zum Ende der Buchzensur in der DDR kam," Geordnete Verhältnisse? Streitbares aus dem Thüringer Landtag, (Schkeuditz: Gesellschaft für Nachrichtenerfassung und Nachrichtenverbreitung, 1996) 203-216. Höpcke, "stellvertretender Kulturminister" in the GDR from 1973-1989, describes in detail the efforts he and other prominent publishers and colleagues from the GDR Ministry of Culture's literature division made from 1988 until unification to reduce the number of editing reviews a text had to undergo and thus to speed up the publication process. Fritz Rudolf Fries, Irmtraud Morgner, and Volker Braun unite a comparable narrative playfulness and critical harshness in their novels Der Weg nach Oobliadooh (1966), Leben und Abenteuer der Trobadora Beatriz (1974), and the Hinze-Kunze-Roman (1984), respectively. Fries's novel could only be published in the west, and it took years of struggle for Morgner's and Braun's novels to pass censorial reviews and be published in the GDR. After censorship restrictions were loosened and eventually abolished in 1988, satirists like Matthias Biskupek and Mathias Wedel were able to publish their openly critical works with less delay.

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newly-won freedom, tend to revel in hyperbole. A further difference between these texts is that satirists writing after 1989 no longer aspire to change or improve (a no longer extant) socialist society, but rather seek to initiate a process of self-understanding, including a search for the author's own fragmented or injured identity and stance toward past and present events surrounding the fall of the Wall. The playfulness these three works in particular exhibit indicates the authors' intent not to fossilize memories of the GDR, but rather to burst them open and allow for innovative perspectives on this past, as well as on the situation in which the authors found themselves after its demise. Beyond the above similarities, a few other thematic and formal aspects of Helden wie wir, Der Quotensachse, and Spur der Broiler tie these novels together. As in the Chapter 1 texts, these authors convey their narratives from a first-person, male perspective. The narrators here differ from the others, however, in that they do not search for their position or role in society, but rather are fully familiar with and confident in it.8 When unification occurs, they do not suffer from identity crises; instead, they continue to manipulate the capitalist system as they had the socialist one previously. In typical picaresque style, the protagonists relate their fictional autobiographies from birth up to the date of the novel's transcription without demonstrating much, if any, moral development. Although they gradually become ever more critical of the GDR, they do not undergo major personality changes, even after its dissolution. All three novels also share a similar spectrum of narrative techniques, including the monologic narrative,9 the "naïve gaze," and the unreliable narrator.10 These techniques and others force the reader to question the narrator's reliability along with the validity of his story, distancing both the reader from each protagonist, and the author from his own fictional narrative. Though by nature reductive, these techniques when deconstructed in a group of novels allow multiple views of the GDR. Like the texts in Chapter 1, these novels combine elements of the carnivalesque at specific biographical _____________ 8 9 10

Brussig's protagonist Klaus Uhltzscht feels insecure and inferior as a child and an adolescent, but once he joins the GDR secret police and later topples the Berlin Wall, he becomes over-confident and acts as he pleases. Bakhtin "uses the term 'monological' to designate the reduction of potentially multiple 'voices' (or characters) into a single authoritative voice" (A Dictionary of Modern Critical Terms, ed. Roger Fowler, London and New York: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1987, 59). Chris Baldick defines the "unreliable narrator" as "a narrator whose account of events appears to be faulty, misleadingly biased, or otherwise distorted, so that it departs from the 'true' understanding of events shared between the reader and the implied author. The discrepancy between the unreliable narrator's view of events and the view that readers suspect to be more accurate creates a sense of irony" (The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms, Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 1990, 234).

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junctures. Of the three, Brussig condemns the GDR most harshly; Biskupek and Ulbrich poke fun at its contradictions, but also view the past with affection and nostalgia.

The Picaresque Genre and its Applicability to Postwall Texts Reflecting on the GDR and the circumstances leading to the Wende and subsequent unification, these authors' brand of satire taps into the German and, in Brussig's case, American picaresque novel tradition. The picaresque novel (German Schelmenroman) originated in sixteenth-century Spain, where the first "novela picaresca," entitled Lazarillo de Tormes, was published anonymously in 1554.11 The Spanish word "picaro" refers to the genre's protagonist, a lower-class vagabond who embarks on adventures and turns to crime to survive. The picaresque novel usually adopts the form of a fictional autobiography told by a first-person narrator who reports and comments on his past deeds and experiences. This narrative doubling implies that the narrator has since changed his life by distancing himself from the picaresque lifestyle. This distancing, or conversion, combined with a "desengaño" or "disillusionment," usually occurs at or near the novel's end. The picaresque traditionally functions as a highly entertaining form of social satire: as the protagonist struggles to survive in various geographical locations and social strata, (s)he exposes a wide range of societal failings and individual character flaws. Some scholars have also proposed that picaresque novels are produced in abundance during times of social change or crisis and that they depict the lives of those with repressed, disturbed, or lost identities (Nause, Inszenierung 21-24). Scholars like Richard Bjornson,12 Alexander A. Parker,13 Francisco Rico,14 and Claudio Guillén15 have explored the picaresque novel extensively, offering various and occasionally contradictory definitions. I find Ulrich Wicks's survey of picaresque scholarship and his summary of the mode's basic features, however, to be comprehensive and yet flexible enough to encompass both traditional and more recent picaresque novels. _____________ 11 12 13 14 15

The historical background on the picaresque novel here was adapted from Walther Killy Literaturlexikon, vol. 14, ed. Volker Meid (Gütersloh/München: Bertelsmann, 1993) 341. The Picaresque Hero in European Fiction (Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1977). Literature and the Delinquent: The Picaresque Novel in Spain and Europe, 1599-1753 (Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1977, orig. 1967). La novela picaresca y el punto de vista (Barcelona: Seix Barral, 2000, orig. 1969). The Anatomies of Roguery: A Comparative Study in the Origins and the Nature of Picaresque Literature (New York: Garland, 1987).

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In Picaresque Narrative, Picaresque Fictions: A Theory and Research Guide, Wicks boils the genre down to ten major characteristics.16 The picaresque narrator is an unheroic protagonist or trickster caught up in a chaotic and corrupt world, pursuing an eternal journey of encounters that allow him to be both victim and exploiter/perpetrator and to expose his society's corruption. He or she speaks from a reflexive and reflective first person point-of-view, looking at the past from the present, remembering with an impossibly perfect memory and weaving between shallowness and a confessional narrative. This narrative perspective produces a conflict between the personal point-of-view and the narrative distance created by the self-irony and the irony of the plot. The picaresque narrative also takes an episodic form that is circular, ending at its beginning, or beginning at its end, at the point where the picaresque narrator had decided to tell his life story. Wicks writes: "[t]his 'end' pervades the entire work and provides the vantage point from which every aspect of the work must be studied" (59). Furthermore, "picaresques climax with a self-perceived and externalized change, which may take the form of explicit conversion […] or some kind of moral or psychological rehabilitation […], or simply moral awareness suppressed by defiance […] or resignation" (59). The picaro himself maintains an inherent adaptability and innocence, being "pragmatic, unprincipled, resilient, solitary," and protean, or able to serve many masters. Nonetheless, he remains an outsider in society, although his status fluctuates from inclusion to exclusion as he travels through space and time. The picaresque novel exhibits a gallery of human types, such as the student or the soldier, and picaresques are often parodies, whereas the self-consciousness and self-reflexiveness can also lead to selfparody. The discursive intent conflicts with the storyline: "[w]hat the picaresque asserts on the level of discourse it often contradicts or cancels out on the level of story," in other words, "[t]he conceptual discursive intent conflicts with the obvious relish with which the narrator launches into the hurly-burly of his sordid life; he works against his ostensible purpose by dwelling on the very things that his narration is supposed to prove worthless" (62). Lastly, numerous standard motifs recur, for example, an unusual birth or childhood, hunger, disillusionment, and grotesque events. Although Tanja Nause rejects the picaresque as an overarching genre distinction in her comparisons of nine pre- and post-Wende novels published from 1979-99, including Helden wie wir, I assert the term is valid in discussing Helden wie wir, Der Quotensachse, and Spur der Broiler. She is _____________ 16

New York: Greenwood, 1989, 54-62. Some of these categories share qualities (for example, irony), but Wicks distinguishes between them as distinct genre characteristics.

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correct that it is now overused in the German media to refer to nearly any kind of humorous or satirical (auto)biographical text (Nause, Inszenierung 12). Despite this fact, however, since Brussig's, Biskupek's and Ulbrich's novels display, allude to, or update nearly all of its characteristics, I argue here for retaining the term when referring to them and other literary works that so consciously exhibit its conventions.17 Ingo R. Stoehr recently refuted Nause's arguments in the case of Helden wie wir by listing point by point each of the picaresque genre characteristics Brussig's novel displays, basing his list on the genre conventions Nause highlights in her monograph.18 Stoehr writes: Since it is Nause's goal to justify the category of 'naïve gaze' as the one to supercede the picaresque, she may overestimate the extent to which Helden wie wir deviates from a 'genuine' picaresque novel. Such deviations, however, already mark the relationship of the 'founding' Spanish picaresque novels […], as well as their German counterparts, such as Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen's Abenteuerlicher Simplicius Simplicissimus (1668). (Stoehr 424)

Moreover, these authors all insert their own novels into the twentiethcentury German picaresque tradition by means of explicit intertextual references. Brussig and Ulbrich allude to Günter Grass's Blechtrommel repeatedly, most prominently by beginning their novels with descriptions of their protagonists' births as fully sentient beings during times of political unrest (Brussig 5, Ulbrich 7-10, Grass 35-36). And Biskupek _____________ 17

18

Nause herself argues that a familiarity with the picaresque novel's conventions and origins is essential for understanding the East German author Fritz Rudolf Fries's pre- and postwall satirical novels Der Weg nach Oobliadooh (1966), Alexanders neue Welten (1982), Die Nonnen von Bratislava (1994), and Der Roncalli-Effekt (1999). See "How Life Becomes Literature: Uncovering the Principle of Writing in Three Novels by Fritz Rudolf Fries" in German Life and Letters 58.3 (July 2005): 326-343. "Rewriting History from Below: From Brecht and Biermann to the Fall of the Berlin Wall in Thomas Brussig's Heroes like us," The Image of the Hero: Selected Papers of the Society for the Interdisciplinary Study of Social Imagery (Pueblo, CO: The Society, Colorado State U.-Pueblo, 2004) 424-426. The seven reasons Stoehr provides in arguing that Helden wie wir be considered a picaresque novel are, briefly summarized: 1) although Klaus was not born into the lower classes, he is an outsider and thus "socially lower" because he feels marginalized by his family and peers; 2) because Klaus's naivete resembles that of other picaresque heroes like Grimmelshausen's Simplicissimus, the term "naïve gaze" does not need to replace the picaresque in his case; 3) although Klaus is not an "old and wise former rogue," he is wiser than he was as a youth; 4) the necessary emphasis on the material sphere is manifested in Klaus's obsession with sex; 5) Nause's argument that there is a lack of "a traditional criminal environment" in Helden wie wir is unconvincing, because the Stasi can be seen as a state-sponsored criminal organization and Klaus's sexually perverse actions border on criminal behavior; 6) although Klaus does not move as far "horizontally through space and vertically through society" as other picaresqure rogues have done, he does move from family to school, to summer camp, and to the Stasi, from "perceived marginalization to being a member of the 'elite' (Stasi)." Klaus thus moves through the social environments that define the GDR; 7) the novel's narrative style is episodic.

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playfully ties his protagonist to Thomas Mann's Felix Krull (among other Mann figures) by emphasizing his mixed ethnic background, reflected in his name, Mario Claudius Zwintscher, and "südsächsischbrünetter Teint" (Biskupek 9, 194). Nause's preferred term, "naïve gaze," does not carry with it the strong connotations of narrator agency and moral ambiguity like the picaresque, and this agency and ambiguity are precisely what allow the three East German protagonists in Brussig, Biskupek, and Ulbrich's novels to stand out in what had been cast by the media during Cold War times and in the postwall period as a conformist socialist population (the exceptions being the uprising on June 17, 1953 and the events surrounding the 1989 revolution). Brussig, Biskupek, and Ulbrich utilize the picaresque, satire, and humor to formulate unique, intricate GDR narratives, alternating between sympathetic humorous scenes and criticisms that promote identification with, but also distance the reader, from GDR society and its citizens. Their novels contribute to a coming to terms with the past and to the creation of subversive Trotzidentitäten that feed directly into stereotypes of what life was like under socialism, but also differ from popular western conceptions of this life. Each text's perspective on the past highlights specific picaresque characteristics, and comparing and contrasting the three demonstrates this mode's applicability to such narratives. Considering the abundance of media and scholarly references to these and other postwall novels as picaresque, it is fitting to engage, like Nause, the usefulness and limits of the term. After each is discussed separately, the three works will be assessed as a group in the conclusion to this chapter.

Thomas Brussig's Helden wie wir19 Of all post-unification satirical texts, Helden wie wir has received the most public and scholarly attention to date. When the novel was published, it became an instant bestseller, and literary critics hastened to dub it the Wenderoman the Germans had been waiting for.20 It attracted so much _____________ 19

20

Portions of the following analysis are reprinted with permission from Palgrave Macmillan, appearing originally as Kristie Foell and Jill Twark, "Bekenntnisse des Stasi-Hochstaplers Klaus Uhlzscht: Thomas Brussig's Comical and Controversial Helden wie wir," in German Writers and the Politics of Culture: Dealing with the Stasi, ed. Paul Cooke and Andrew Plowman (Houndmills, Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003) 173-194. Further secondary literature and interviews with Brussig can be found at . The subtitle to Christoph Dieckmann's article "Klaus und wie er die Welt sah" (Die Zeit 8 September 1995, 57) is "Der junge Ostberliner Autor Thomas Brussig hat den heißersehnten Wenderoman geschrieben." Burkhard Baltzer exclaims "Hurra, endlich ist

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interest in the mid-1990s because its memorable picaresque hero's insider/outsider voice, spoken through multiple ironic masks, affords readers a unique, voyeuristic perspective both on the GDR and on the events surrounding the fall of the Berlin Wall on November 9, 1989. Focusing on the protagonist's uncontrollable sexual drive, expressed in perverse fantasies and acts, as well as his multifarious experiences with the GDR secret police, the novel exposes the socialist experiment as leading to paranoia and riddled with inconsistencies and corruption. As Roberto Simanowski warns, however: Wer ernsthaft versucht, über die Kunstfigur Klaus Uhltzscht einen Zugang zum Inneren des Ostdeutschen zu finden, ist in Brussigs Falle gelaufen. Denn wer Übertreibungen, Absurditäten und Wortspielereien als Erklärungsansatz für Realität benutzt, ist von Klaus Uhltzscht, der auf die unglaublichsten Sprüche der DDR-Ideologen hereinfiel, kaum noch zu unterscheiden.21

In Helden wie wir Brussig does not purport to come to terms with the historical past ("die Geschichte") as most serious and not-so-serious postunification authors have done, but rather to tell a captivating story ("eine lange Geschichte"[6]). His purpose is not to tell the truth about German history, the fall of the Berlin Wall, or the infamous Stasi, but rather to present his protagonist's experiences in the most entertaining way possible. In so doing, however, he does critique the misuse of language in the GDR, the problematic distortion of historical events like the 1989 revolution within official narratives to serve political purposes (and personal ones like his protagonist's craving for fame), and the media obsession with the Stasi in the early 1990s. He also reveals basic psychological truths about manipulation and repression, as well as several significant factors that have contributed to building a specific, postwall Eastern German identity. In 2000 Sebastian Petersen directed a relatively unsuccessful film based on the novel, unfortunately turning much of Brussig's biting satire into an entertaining but artificially constructed montage of documentary and cartoon film clips, coupled with a kitschy love story to produce a Hollywood-style happy ending.22 Brussig's first book, the serious novel Wasserfarben (1991, written from 1984 to 1989), and humorous third novel, _____________ 21 22

der erhoffte Wende-Roman da" in the subtitle to his article "Deutschland, ein einig ZipfelLand" (Saarbrücker Zeitung 17 November 1995, 11). "Die DDR als Dauerwitz?," review of Thomas Brussig's Helden wie wir in Neue Deutsche Literatur 2 (1996): 156-163, 161. For a comparison between the marketing strategies of the novel and the film, see Roswitha Skare, "Panorama und Groteske—Erzähl- und Vermarktungsstrategien populärer Wendeliteratur. Zu Thomas Brussig's Helden wie wir und Erich Loests Nikolaikirche," in Alles nur Pop? Anmerkungen zur populären und Pop-Literatur seit 1990, ed. Thomas Jung (Frankfurt a. M. et al.: Peter Lang, 2002) 81-102.

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Am kürzeren Ende der Sonnenallee (based on Brussig's screenplay for the hilarious blockbuster cult film Sonnenallee, directed by Leander Haußmann, 1999) also both treat the coming of age of an adolescent male in East Germany.23 This adolescent search for identity, while clearly a beloved topic for Brussig, also feeds into the widespread perception of former East Germans as immature and lacking in social education. Helden wie wir is more complex and harsher in its criticism of the GDR than the other two books, however. All three, along with Helga Novak's prewall novels Die Eisheiligen (1979) and Vogel federlos (1982) and Christoph Brumme's Nichts als das (1994) and Tausend Tage (1997), harbingered what became a late 1990s and early twenty-first century trend toward humorous, often sentimental, fictional and autobiographical texts about growing up in the GDR (Nause 12). A few more recent texts belonging to this popular group are Jakob Hein's Mein erstes T-Shirt (2001), Michael Tetzlaff's Ostblöckchen. Neues aus der Zone (2004), and Daniel Wiechmann's Immer bereit! Von einem Pionier, der auszog, das Glück zu suchen (2004).24 Brussig's protagonist in Helden wie wir, Klaus Uhltzscht, relates his GDR biography from his fateful birth on August 20, 1968, the day Soviet tanks rolled into Prague (with the support of GDR leaders) to crush the attempted revolution ("die Welt, auf die ich kam, war eine politische Welt" [5]), up to the opening of the Berlin Wall. Beginning Klaus's biography with a description of his birth, Brussig connects his character to Günter Grass's picaresque protagonist Oskar Matzerath from Die Blechtrommel. The jacket insert for the Volk & Welt edition made this connection explicit, perhaps as an attempt to claim for Helden wie wir a similar status in postwall times to that enjoyed by Die Blechtrommel in the postwar period: So wie Oskar Matzerath, der Wachstumsverweigerer von Günter Grass, zum Menetekel der nationalsozialistisch anfälligen Kleinbürgerwelt wurde, ist Klaus Uhltzscht die satirische Verkörperung des Identitätsverlustes im real existierenden Sozialismus und der Sinnentleerung eines von Tabus beherrschten Lebens überhaupt.

While Oskar chooses not to grow physically, Klaus wants nothing more than to attain "manhood," yet seems stuck in an eternal adolescence against his will. Whereas Oskar's decision never to grow up results in _____________ 23

24

Strangely enough, a lawsuit was brought against Brussig and the director of the film Sonnenallee, Leander Haußmann, for the film's purported disrespect for victims of the GDR state, but not against Helden wie wir (Foell and Twark 175). Helen Cafferty provides an excellent analysis of this film in her article "Sonnenallee: Taking Comedy Seriously in Unified Germany" (Costabile-Heming, et al., Textual Responses 253-269). See Oliver Igel, Gab es die DDR wirklich? Die Darstellung des SED-Staates in komischer Prosa zur "Wende" (2005) for a discussion of these later humorous texts, which I would categorize as closer to true "popular literature" than Helden wie wir for their less controversial approaches to GDR history and unification, simpler narrative structure, and readability.

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physical deformity, manifested in his dwarf stature, Klaus's sexual perversions and megalomaniacal obsession with fame initially cripple him mentally and emotionally, leading him to seek ego-confirmation and excitement in the seemingly glamorous Stasi. Eventually, his perpetual frustration is channeled fantastically via a botched medical operation into the balloon-like swelling of his tiny phallus. Displaying his monstrous organ to the East Berlin border guards, Klaus distracts them so they halfconsciously open the gates, allowing the collected demonstrators to stream over to the West. At this time he also rethinks his own and his fellow citizens' obedience to a repressive regime: "Sehen Sie sich die Ostdeutschen an, vor und nach dem Fall der Mauer. Vorher passiv, nachher passiv – wie sollen sie je die Mauer umgeschmissen haben?" (320321). For reasons discussed below, Brussig presents Klaus's biography in the unusual form of a taped interview with a New York Times reporter named Mr. Kitzelstein, who invites Klaus to New York because Klaus agrees to tell the story of how he singlehandedly brought about the fall of the Wall on that fateful November day. In the long interview, divided into seven chapters, Klaus carries the reader through his childhood, teenage years, and young adult life, commenting on his upbringing, sexual development, and, surprisingly, his mostly positive, idealistic relationship to the German Democratic Republic. Tying together these dominant themes, the author weaves a grotesque satire of Klaus's development. In typical picaresque style Klaus is both perpetrator and victim, embodying the last generation of young men to have grown up in the GDR, and his biography serves as an exaggerated but plausible explanation for how a child can develop into a supporter of a socialist dictatorship. In depicting Klaus as both mentally and emotionally handicapped and an avid supporter of this system, Brussig also plays into generally, but not exclusively, Western stereotypes which regard any engaged socialist as gullible, self-righteous, or even pathological. According to these prejudices, only people with such a mentality could be deluded by a socialist ideology that perpetually demonstrated itself to be an unachievable utopia.25 The Western German journalist Michael Schmitz wrote in 1995, for example, "Marx entwarf eine unbeirrbare Theorie—eine Utopie, die nach den klassischen Kriterien der _____________ 25

Duncan Smith, in Walls and Mirrors: Western Representations of Really Existing German Socialism in the German Democratic Republic (Lanham, New York, and London: UP of America, 1988), discusses four categories of West and East German depictions of the GDR in the discourses surrounding this country throughout its existence. One of these categories includes depictions of the GDR as a "socialist hell" (5), and another reproduces the GDR "as an example of 'socialism gone bad', i.e., socialism of the Soviet model (5-6).

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Psychopathologie wahnähnliche Züge trägt."26 Interpretations of socialist ideology such as this and, especially, Hans-Joachim Maaz's famous postwall psychoanalysis of the East German collective psyche, Der Gefühlsstau—Ein Psychogramm der DDR (1990), motivated Brussig to write his novel. In a 1995 interview with Stern magazine, Brussig stated that he had wanted to turn Maaz's psychological profile of the repressed East German citizen into a literary persona (Lahann 146). In general, Brussig's humor springs from the incongruity between "high" and "low," noble and base, in his narrator Klaus's thoughts and actions, and from his eclectic use of language. Klaus's aspirations in the GDR and beyond are high, and growing up in the GDR he acknowledges and internalizes socialist utopian goals. The means he actually uses and plans to use in the future to fulfill these goals, however, are sordid and ridiculous. The fact that he also nearly always fails to achieve the goals to which he aspires steeps him in tragicomical misery. Literary critic Marion Löhndorf writes: "Indem er [Brussig] seinen Ich-Helden als Versager mit Grössenwahn charakterisiert, ihm dabei aber immer wieder den Teppich der Überlegenheit unter den Füssen wegzieht, erzielt er seine amüsantesten Effekte."27 The repeated thwarting of Klaus's noble and ignoble plans elicits laughter in the way Immanuel Kant defined it, by setting up expectations and then dashing them. The novel's satirical attacks derive from the contradictions between Klaus's ideals and his biographical and socio-historical realities. Brussig's central satirical themes, discussed in order further below, emerge from the following: 1) the ways he applies the overblown, confessional narrative to critique historical accounts of the fall of the Wall in November 1989, whose rhetoric in effect turned all GDR citizens into "heroes," as well as the German media's obsession with Stasi crimes in the early postwall period; 2) Klaus's tragicomic, "typical" GDR parents, along with the dysfunctional family interactions that lead to his personality deformation and picaresque outsider status; 3) the comical conflicts between his perversions and socialist ideals, the latter of which he deflates by highlighting discrepancies between these ideals and real existing socialism; 4) his ridiculous and criminal Stasi activities and his colleagues' hilarious, false perceptions of the meanings of Hegelian, Marxist, and other philosophical terminology; and 5) his negative perception of GDR intellectuals, indicative of a postwall generational rift. These themes reveal Brussig's satirical intentions, which he summarized in a 1995 interview: _____________ 26 27

Wendestress: Die psychosozialen Kosten der deutschen Einheit (Berlin: Rowohlt, 1995) 18. "Wer hat die Mauer umgeschmissen? Thomas Brussigs Wenderoman 'Helden wie wir'," Neue Zürcher Zeitung: Internationale Ausgabe 10 October 1995, 10.

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Das Buch ist wirklich ein Bretterknaller, aber es soll auch Anlaß sein, daß man sich ernsthaft und gründlich unterhält und sich über die DDR-Vergangenheit klar wird. Wenn wir über unser Versagen und die Gründe unseres Versagens klar werden. Dann wären wir sicher die interessanteren Mitglieder unserer Gesellschaft, dann bringen wir eine gewisse Sensibilität dafür mit, wo Menschen sich verbiegen und Dinge tun, die ihnen eigentlich zuwider sind.28

The Hyperbolic Confession as Critique of Official Accounts of the Fall of the Wall and Media Representations of the Stasi In Helden wie wir Klaus Uhltzscht "confesses" several tall tales to an American reporter named Mr. Kitzelstein.29 In intentionally falsifying the historical events surrounding the fall of the Berlin Wall in this confession, Brussig mocks official accounts of history. Not only does Klaus claim to have engaged in inconceivably crude acts to appease his irrepressible libido, he purportedly extended First Party Secretary Erich Honecker's life by donating blood for him, and used his swollen penis to bring about the fall of the Berlin Wall (302, 305, 318-320). Klaus's Berlin Wall story contradicts official accounts of the 1989 revolution in two significant ways. Primarily, it discounts GDR citizens' courageous group effort in taking to the streets to demonstrate for democratic elections and the freedom to travel to the West, among other basic human rights. It also turns a conscious act of heroism into a chance event by wresting the agency from the people on the streets and transferring it to a morally suspect character, who cannot avoid "[s]ich zu bezichtigen, ohne Sinn und Verstand die Mauer umgeschmissen zu haben," while passing by the Wall on the way to visit a former lover to impress her with his newly enlarged member (305, 315). Brussig misrepresents history here in order to provoke a public dialogue about why GDR citizens followed the lead of a repressive government for forty years and did not act more assertively during the fall 1989 mass demonstrations. Before these and other, related questions could get lost in the rhetoric surrounding unification that depicted East Germans as "heroes," he called into question their "heroic" _____________ 28 29

Thomas Brussig, "Wer saß unten im System? Icke!" Die Wochenpost 21. September 1995. Cited in Daniel Sich, "Absurditätenshow" . The Jewish-sounding name "Kitzelstein" connects this reporter to the Jewish psychoanalyst Dr. Spielvogel from Philip Roth's Portnoy's Complaint (further connections between the two novels are explored below) and provides a fitting name for the recipient of Klaus's sex-filled narrative. The verb "kitzeln" means "to tickle" or "to titillate," thus "Kitzel" conveys the "titillation" the reporter may experience in listening to Klaus's story. The verb "herauskitzeln" also means to "coax" a story out of someone.

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sacrifices in the GDR and their to him not real, but rather symbolic, efforts to topple the Berlin Wall: "Dann begannen die Volksmassen zu schieben, allerdings nur symbolisch, aber was will man erwarten von einem Volk, das sich in seinen Revolutionsreden hoch anrechnen läßt, daß es seine Proteste behördlich genehmigen ließ" (314).30 To Brussig/Klaus, the reasons behind their obedience appear not only masochistic, but also simply to "lack balls," as we might say in colloquial English ("ein solches Volk hat einen zu kleinen Pimmel – in diesen Dingen kenne ich mich aus" [316]). Stuart Taberner sums up the reasoning behind Brussig's use of such a narrative by stating that Klaus's "whimsically impossible account of his own past encourages the reader to consider the extent to which those born into the GDR may have colluded in their own impotence and seek to rewrite that history in the present."31 Coinciding with his satirical debunking of the myth of socialist and other revolutionary heroes, Brussig also pokes fun at the GDR secret police, bursting its threatening aura, which the German media perpetuated in the years following unification. With headlines like these—"Erste Geständnisse der Stasi-Folterer: Fußsohlen versengt, Schaum in die Augen," "Wie man eine Persönlichkeit zerstört," "So warb die Stasi ihre Informanten: Egoismus, Karrierestreben, Angst und politische Blindheit wurden skrupellos ausgenutzt / 14jährige als Spitzel bezahlt"32 —and repeated talkshow interviews of Stasi victims and perpetrators, the media in Germany hyped the uncovering of lurid facts about the GDR's Ministerium für Staatssicherheit in the years following the Wende. They thereby contributed to the production of images of the organization that fulfilled the German and world public's expectation of it as an omniscient, sinister _____________ 30

31 32

Dietrich Thränhardt, whose Geschichte der Bundesrepublik Deutschland (rev. ed., Suhrkamp: Frankfurt a.M.: 1996) has appeared in multiple editions and is used widely in political science and history courses taught at German universities, rues the fact that Western Germany has not incorporated the "freiheitlich-demokratische" revolutionary opening of the Wall into its archive of national symbols. He writes: "Insgesamt gehörte das Geschehen zur eindrucksvollsten friedlichen Symbolik der Demokratie überhaupt. [...] Gleichwohl hat die Bundesrepublik sie nicht in ihren Symbolhaushalt übernommen, sondern vernachlässigt und in die historische Rumpelkammer gestellt. Regierung, Opposition und öffentliche Meinung – alle westdeutsch bestimmt – wirkten dabei zusammen" (316-317). German Literature of the 1990s and Beyond: Normalization and the Berlin Republic (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2005), 48. These headlines appeared in the Bild-Zeitung on 26 April 1990 and in Der Morgen on 27 June 1990 and 17 August 1990. Hundreds of newspaper articles on the Stasi have been collected in chronological order in Dokumentation zum Staatssicherheitsdienst der ehemaligen DDR in 6 Teilen (I-VI). 1. November 1989 – 31. Oktober 1990, part I, ed. Peter Eisenfeld and Günther Buch (Berlin: Gesamtdeutsches Institut Bundesanstalt für Gesamtdeutsche Aufgaben, 1990).

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force overshadowing the existence of all GDR citizens.33 With Helden wie wir, Brussig held the mirror of satire up to these images. Many earlier literary attempts by Eastern Germans to capture the GDR past and the turbulent unifying present were swallowed in media blitzes such as the one referred to above,34 but with his hyperbolic, taboo-breaking wit and updating of the picaresque genre to feed into the postwall obsession with the past, Brussig successfully manipulated the media and the German public to focus their attention at least for a while on his alternative, satirical perspective. Not only the content, but also the interview format of Klaus's biography invites the reader to relate to his story as another sensationalist tabloid confession, putting a contemporary twist on the picaresque confessional narrative. Alison Lewis, discussing the role of Stasi confessions in her analysis of Brigitte Burmeister's important satirical postwall novel Unter dem Namen Norma (1994), supplies several insights into the roles these confessions play(ed) in constituting a specifically Eastern German identity: "The Stasi informant offered an easy 'Sündenbock' and a convenient screen onto which East Germans could project their guilt and deflect all responsibility for their past complicity with the regime."35 Like Marianne, the narrator from Norma, Klaus celebrates his dysfunctional victim-perpetrator past, thereby also providing "an irresistible and even perverse point of identification, even pleasure, for many East Germans," since the Stasi was a specifically East German institution that did not exist in the West, and the act of telling the informer's story represented an important first step in fashioning models of collective experience that were able to give proper articulation to a diverse range of attitutes to the state: to forms of acquiescence in, tolerance of and complicity with power." (Lewis 158)

From a western perspective, the two authors' positioning of narrator and listener, in which both the western listener and the external reader _____________ 33

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See Stephen Brockmann, Literature and German Reunification (Cambridge, New York, and Melbourne: Cambridge UP, 1999) pages 83-85 for an analysis of how the Stasi came to represent an "overwhelming and evil divinity" taking the blame for GDR citizens' collective guilt both before and after unification. Although Bernd Schirmer's first postwall novel, Cahlenberg (written 1988-89), received the "Stipendium der Verlage beim Ingeborg-Bachmann-Wettbewerb" in Klagenfurt, Austria, in 1989, it could not be published until 1994 because it was no longer considered timely in 1990, since it focused on the GDR. Cahlenberg and Schlehweins Giraffe (1992), are examples of literary texts that got lost in the flood of media coverage of the rapidly transpiring events. "The Stasi, the Confession and Performing Difference: Brigitte Burmeister's Unter dem Namen Norma," in Cooke and Plowman, eds., German Writers and the Politics of Culture, (Houndmills, Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003) 155-172. In contrast to Brussig, Burmeister lets her reader in on the joke (only the characters in the story are deceived by Marianne's lurid narrative), while Brussig invites his reader to accept Klaus's story as fact.

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passively receive "the truth," turns the tables on those used to viewing East Germans as the passive victims of state propaganda. In constructing the narrative as an oral interview, Brussig also eliminates Klaus's inhibitions, which encourages him to exaggerate his biography and to exploit his Western listener's gullibility like Marianne from Norma does (Lewis 164). Klaus even calls the taped interview a "Sprechprobe," a sound test: "Ich darf alles sagen, was mir in den Sinn kommt, ohne daß ich dafür festgenagelt werden kann—ist ja nur eine Sprechprobe" (18). Telling his story in front of a tape recorder to a New York Times reporter, whom he expects will edit—in effect "improve" it for the paper's readers, but also eliminate parts of it—, Klaus also ironically subjects himself to a Stasi-like taping of his "crimes" and to a form of western "censorship." This posing indicates Klaus's desire to clear his conscience and escape having to take responsibility for his actual past crimes. Initially, Klaus’s talkativeness and lack of inhibition add humor to the narrative. Shifting from ecstatic exclamations to guilt-ridden questioning, to divulgences of the darker sides of his personality, the narrative guides the reader on a titillating emotional and psychological roller-coaster ride. The more Klaus talks, the more he reveals his exaggerated insecurities, megalomania, and sometimes silly, sometimes punishable Stasi crimes. He speaks profusely because he hopes to achieve as much fame as possible by having his story published in one of the most widely read world newspapers. His biographical and cultural distance to the American Kitzelstein also encourages him to speak more freely than he would to a fellow German, forcing him to explain culturally determined aspects of this biography in detail, making it more accessible, and thus more universally appealing. What begins as a "sound test," however, turns into a 323-page novel, a sign that Brussig, through Klaus, really does feel comfortable enough in front of Kitzelstein/the reader to speak freely. A further irony of the narrative is that the character Kitzelstein is completely absent as an agent, since Brussig does not allow him to say a word throughout the entire interview: Klaus asks and answers his own questions, mirthfully conducting the interview with himself. After experiencing a unification process dominated by West Germany, Brussig silences the western voice in order to tell his story for a change. In this respect, Klaus's "dialogue" becomes a monologue, resembling Schirmer's narrator's one-sided dialogue with the giraffe in Schlehweins Giraffe. This loose, free-talking format supplies a means to break away from other, more serious post-unification narratives,36 and yet the pose of oral delivery _____________ 36

The list of serious, postwall nonfiction Eastern German biographies, autobiographies, and histories is endless. A few examples of this type of narrative are Manfred Gerlach's Mitverantwortlich. Als Liberaler im SED Staat (Berlin: Morgenbach, 1991), and Eberhard

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lends the novel an aura of authenticity, despite its exaggerated, unreliable content. Eventually his repetitive narration becomes monotonous though, which reviewers have acknowledged as the novel's main weakness.37 The Family as Source of Pathology and Metonymn for the GDR The origin of Klaus's pathological guilt complexes and perversions and a powerful source of humor and satire in the novel are his family interactions. Traditionally family narratives are a prime vehicle with which to perform social criticism, the family representing a microcosm of the society in which it resides and with which it interacts. Klaus's sexual and social problems stem from his dysfunctional family, and his megalomania and arrogance are ironic masks he develops to cover his wounds and frustrations while growing up. Because his parents have caused him intense suffering throughout his life by keeping Stasi-like close tabs on him, he describes both his mother and father with an exaggeration that transforms them into types. Having Klaus confess in detail the instrumental role his family played in his development, Brussig further updates the picaresque genre in the postwall German context by positing his protagonist in the satiric tradition of the postwar West German and later, post-sexual revolution Anglo-American grotesque. He alludes formally and thematically to Günter Grass's Die Blechtrommel (1959), Philip Roth's Portnoy's Complaint (1969), and John Irving's The World According to Garp (1978). Many critics have noted especially how closely Brussig's narrative style and the way he develops Klaus's biography imitate the techniques in the latter two American novels.38 More than Grass's Oskar _____________

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Panitz and Klaus Huhn's Mein Chef ist ein Wessi: Gedächtnisprotokolle 1992 (Berlin: Spotless, 1992). The Berlin publishing house Spotless is dedicated to publishing the post-unification works of Eastern Germans, regardless of their political convictions or past activities in the GDR. One example of a serious fictional narrative from the West is Günter Gaus's Wendewut (Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1991). Gaus's female protagonist, who had suffered in the GDR, is deeply disappointed with how unification transpires. Helmut Böttiger writes: "Daß der Roman nur aus solcher Rollenprosa besteht, macht ihn auf Dauer doch etwas eintönig und stellenweise bemüht; die sprachlichen Variationsmöglichkeiten sind auf ein Minimum beschränkt. Das ist gleichzeitig die Stärke und die Schwäche dieses Buches" in "Die DDR braucht ihr '68! Thomas Brussigs Abrechnung mit der sozialistischen Kleinbürgermoral," Frankfurter Rundschau 28 October 1995. See also Burkhard Balzer, "Deutschland, ein einig Zipfel-Land," in which Balzer opines: "Sprachlich ausgefeilt wirkt 'Helden wie wir' nämlich wenig. Zeitenwechsel und Retrospektiven: vieles kommt verquasselt daher" (11). See, for example, Christoph Dieckmann, Helmut Böttiger (both mentioned above), and Norbert Mayer, "Wie die Mauer tatsächlich zu Fall gebracht wurde—eine Heldengeschichte,"Die Presse 23 September 1995, 14, in which Brussig himself named Roth and Irving, as well as J. D. Salinger and Erich Kästner, as his literary models. A further

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or Irving's Garp, however, Klaus resembles Alexander Portnoy, the emotionally underdeveloped, sexually obsessed, guilt-ridden narrator in Roth's novel.39 In it, the 33-year-old Portnoy "complains" to his psychoanalyst, Dr. Spielvogel, about his repressive upbringing in a JewishAmerican family in New Jersey from the 1930s to the early '60s. In a preface to the narrative, Roth quotes Spielvogel's theoretical conclusions, gained by listening to Alexander's confessions. Here, "Portnoy's Complaint" is defined as: A disorder in which strongly-felt ethical and altruistic impulses are perpetually warring with extreme sexual longings, often of a perverse nature [...] however, neither fantasy nor act issues in genuine sexual gratification, but rather in overriding feelings of shame and the dread of retribution, particularly in the form of castration. [...] It is believed by Spielvogel that many of the symptoms can be traced to the bonds obtaining in the mother-child relationship. (Roth, Preface to Portnoy's Complaint)

In Helden wie wir Brussig transposes the framework of Alexander's dysfunctional family and stunted emotional development to an East Berlin setting. Like Alexander, Klaus has high goals for society, but also strong, perverse sexual drives. Both share guilt complexes induced by overlyhygienic mothers. Not only does Brussig model his character Klaus after Alexander Portnoy, the author also borrows Philip Roth's monologic writing style and rhetorical devices, including narrative repetition, digression, and the frequent posing of rhetorical questions.40 Brussig imitates Roth, Irving, and Grass to guarantee that his social and political criticisms will shock, disgust, and thereby entertain the reader. In the unique socialist context, these perversions may seem even more at odds with society's goals than in the capitalist one of Brussig's forebears. A further, obvious parity among Roth's, Irving's, and Brussig's novels is the protagonists' mothers. Arguably originating in Germanic mythology and reaching their pinnacle in the twentieth-century Jewish mother stereotype, these overprotective, repressive mother figures frequently recur in literary texts and thus may be considered an archetype.41 _____________

39 40

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author from whom Brussig "borrowed" several ideas for his novel is the Eastern German author Kerstin Hensel, several of whose protagonists in Auditorium panopticum (1991) display characteristics Brussig attributes to Klaus. In Chapter 4, I discuss some of these borrowed ideas to demonstrate how Eastern German authors still represented an interactive cohort in the 1990s. Philip Roth, Portnoy's Complaint (New York: Random House, 1969). Brussig further illustrates Klaus’s obsessions through lists, or accumulation (termed "Häufung" in German). This literary technique, commonly adopted by Baroque authors, was also employed by Günter Grass in Die Blechtrommel to elaborate on and intensify his descriptions. The Nordic/Germanic goddess Frigg, the wife of Odin (Wotan), tried to protect her son Balder from the death his dreams had foretold for him by taking oaths from all earthly

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Obsessed with hygiene and keeping her son away from "bad influences," whether in the form of uneducated friends, sexual contact with women, or self-stimulation by masturbation, Klaus's mother fits this archetypal mold: "Was der gesamte Fahndungsapparat der Stasi nicht schafft, nämlich mich aufzuspüren – meine Mutter mit ihren Instinkten bringt es fertig" (298). Possessing a medical degree, she works as a municipal hygiene inspector. At home she buys a spare vacuum cleaner in case the one they already possess breaks down, and she seals every crack in the kitchen and bathroom to prevent germs from nesting there. Her cleanliness obsession causes Klaus to become paranoid about all bodily functions. He is afraid to use the toilet because of the stink and the danger of disease from strangers. Wrapping toilet paper around the toilet seats everywhere he goes, leaving a trail of clogged toilets behind, Klaus exclaims that he is "Born to be a Toilettenverstopfer!" (44). Brussig's hilarious, creative rewording of the title of the U.S. rock group Steppenwolf's famous song "Born to be Wild" from their 1968 album Steppenwolf denigrates Klaus, whose self-deprecation can be interpreted as a tactic to evoke pity and avoid having to take full responsibility for his actions. Calling himself a "Toilettenverstopfer" also undermines his mask of being a socialist "hero," contrasting with the delusions of grandeur which motivate him to strive to implement his idealistic political goals. A further type of excuse he offers to justify his emotional immaturity can be seen in the following rhetorical question: "Wie soll man ein Mann werden, wenn man sich sogar seiner selbstgekackten Scheiße schämen muß?" (44). Transferring the mother's anti-sex, anti-disease, and injury paranoia to Klaus, Brussig makes him overly fearful and generally unwilling to take risks, stunting his emotional growth and preventing him from developing a healthy selfconfidence. In emphasizing her obsessive attitudes and behavior, Brussig turns the mother into a distorted caricature. _____________ creatures not to harm him. Unfortunately for Balder, she neglected to solicit an oath from a mistletoe tree, which Loki uprooted and handed to the god Hod, who promptly used it to kill Balder (E. O. G. Turville-Petre, Myth and Religion of the North: The Religion of Ancient Scandinavia, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1964, 106-109). As for the modern, literary stereotype of the overprotective Jewish mother, Silvia Barack Fishman lists as prime examples the titular Marjorie Morningstar from Herman Wouk's 1955 novel, Brenda Patimkin from Philip Roth's Goodbye, Columbus (1959), and, of course, Sophie Ginsky Portnoy from Portnoy's Complaint. Fishman also discusses the socio-cultural reasons for the spread of this phenomenon, tracing it back to its non-Jewish origins in works by Philip Wylie (Generation of Vipers 1942) and Erik Erikson (Childhood and Society 1950), pointing out that "[t]he Jewish mother, like the Jewish American princess, became a staple of American Jewish fiction" and "the cartoon figure of the omniscient, omnipotent Jewish mother has enjoyed an amazingly long shelf life in the popular imagination." See the Introduction to her anthology Follow My Footprints: Changing Images of Women in American Jewish Fiction (Hanover, NH and London: Brandeis UP, 1992) 30-36.

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To reveal further the mother's cleanliness obsession and desire to avoid any references to sex, Brussig manipulates her verbal utterances, creating hilarious euphemisms for body parts or acts she considers "dirty." The "anus," for example, becomes "das untere Ofentürchen" (33). In an ingenious orthographical play on words, Brussig even grants her the ability to avoid the German word "Sex" altogether by generating the German language puns "6idol," "homo6uell," "6film," and "6i" (58). Pronouncing "sex" like the number "six" in German—"sechs"—she in effect turns the act of sexual intercourse into a number, sterilizing it and distancing herself from it so she may exude moral superiority and purity. In avoiding and discouraging all references to sexual organs and acts, and monitoring Klaus's behavior daily, she inadvertently instills in him an obsession with sexual activities, along with a deep sense of guilt and thus the desire to camouflage them. This guilt later leads to an untamable eruption of Klaus's sexual desire, which, having been suppressed in its normal, healthy manifestations, transforms itself into perverse sexual fantasies and acts. In contrast to most other characters in the novel, Klaus's father, employed by the Stasi and acting at home like a typical paternalistic tyrant, is one of the few uncomical figures. He has an even more negative effect on his son than the mother does. Mr. Uhltzscht shows Klaus no positive attention or love; distant, cold, and self-righteous, he talks to Klaus solely to discipline or insult him (9). The only comical references to him appear in Klaus's memories of how he earlier viewed his father through a child's eyes. As a child, Klaus admired his father, believing he performed amazing "Zeichen und Wunder" (37-38). Some of these amazing "miracles," which are physical attributes adults take for granted, include the new beard stubble Mr. Uhltzscht grows every day, despite his daily shave; the fact that his father can sleep and snore at the same time; and his father's ability to blow his own nose (38). In these examples Brussig constructs Klaus's memories of his childhood naiveté with the sarcasm exclusive to an adult. The characteristics for which Klaus admires his father are purely physical—natural phenomena over which Klaus's father has no control— not conscious acts of bravery or compassion. The greatest tragedy in Klaus's life is that his hopes to gain his father’s love and respect are never fulfilled. Like his mother, Klaus's father exacerbates his son's inferiority complex and unconsciously encourages his perverse outbursts; Klaus's self-castigation and fear of public scorn for acting on his perversions merely spur him on to further extremes. In the end, this family's dysfunction leads most directly to Klaus's social alienation and outsider status. His parents' professions, as Stasi official and hygiene inspector, combined with their attempts to control Klaus's every move, represent metonymically the ubiquitous watchfulness of the GDR state.

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Subverting Socialist Ideals with the Perverse Body As demonstrated in Chapter 1, sexual and scatological elements generally play a greater role in post-unification satirical literature than they had in the satirical literature of the GDR. In Helden wie wir Brussig ingeniously constructs a grotesque conflict between Klaus's sexual obsessions and his high socialist ideals in order to expose socialist ideology, the "real existing socialism" of the GDR, and the propaganda methods deployed there as manipulative and flawed. Brussig sets up this conflict by having Klaus from his early years understand and internalize language and ideologies at face value. Klaus's prewall stance is radical because it contrasts with many GDR citizens’ claims after unification that they had more or less passively resisted the system: Klaus openly admits to having been an enthusiastic supporter. In the GDR, Klaus represents the picaro before he has become disillusioned with society. As he matures physically, but not emotionally, his body comes to embody his imagination, speaking a Körpersprache42 (language of the body) that emphasizes the authority over the body—not just the psyche—that Eastern Bloc regimes exerted. On the one hand, Klaus succombs to this authority. While growing up, although giving in to his desire to perform perverse physical acts, he justifies them by deluding himself into believing they will further the socialist cause. By engaging in these acts, the socialist ideology becomes written on his body, branding him as an object of mockery and pity. On the other hand, by engaging in perverse, sexual behaviors to express his sexuality as a reaction to this repression, and keeping these perversions hidden for fear of reprisal, Klaus sets his body free, albeit pathologically, from official conceptions of how the socialist ideology should be implemented. From his position as author, Brussig uses Klaus's body as a means to subvert the GDR state's authority in a process which Lyn Marven describes as "authoring other representations of the body, ones which lay bare the state's symbolic discourse and which counter, undermine, or _____________ 42

The word "Körpersprache" derives from the feminist theory propounded by Hélène Cixous that women authors use sick, grotesque, or otherwise uncontrollable bodies in an effort to "write themselves" and thereby to undermine the ruling, patriarchal syntax ("Schreiben, Feminität, Veränderung," alternative, 108/109 [1976]: 134-147). Sigrid Weigel also discusses how the word "Körpersprache" can be used to interpret specific types of women's writing: "Körpersprache" connects the demarcation of a female subjectivity to the expression of authentic bodily experiences (Die Stimme der Medusa. Schreibweisen in der Gegenwartsliteratur von Frauen, 2nd ed., Dülmen-Hiddingsel: tende, 1995) 111-130. Despite the ultramasculine perspective of Helden wie wir, because the Eastern German Brussig belongs to a group that is considered the Other seeking to delineate its identity within a dominant society, and his protagonist is a pathological outsider/Other within the GDR, I find it appropriate to apply this traditionally feminist term to Klaus.

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subvert it. Images of the body […] challenge the body discourse of the hegemonic power – the totalitarian state – by making its effects visible […] or by representing the body as uncontrollable and disruptive of cultural signification."43 Only after Klaus's body itself is transformed can he later escape fully from this physical and mental entrapment within the GDR system. Such a transformation occurs after Klaus trips over a demonstrator's sign at the top of a staircase in autumn 1989, falling and mangling his genitals. After the necessary plastic surgery to repair them leads to their grotesque enlargement, he suffers tremendous pain. This pain functions as a picaresque disengaño, or turning-point in his outlook toward his past and present life: Ich entdeckte, daß ich eine Vergangenheit habe und daß diese Vergangenheit eine Bedeutung hat und daß meine Gegenwart, die Schmerzen und der zertretene Frosch [sein Penis], nicht zufällig in mein Leben hereinbrachen, sondern alles Bisherige nur verlängerten. Daß alles logisch verlief und so enden mußte. Der Schmerz war die erste Stunde der Wahrheit. Ich lernte meine Strafe kennen und begann, nach Schuld und Verantwortung zu suchen. (293)

When he recovers from the operation to find his penis in its enlarged form ("Jeder Mann will den größten haben – aber ich hatte ihn!" [303]), he gains the self-confidence to open the Berlin Wall. Although he had rationalized that his sexual drives and acts furthered the cause of socialism in the GDR, thus "speaking" the language of socialism, his body later "speaks" for the thousands of demonstrators, freeing them from a repressive GDR socialist ideology that had led to conformity and passivity. To set up the conflict between Klaus's socialist convictions and sexual drives, which mark him as a true GDR outsider, even as he strives to conform to his parents' and society's expectations, Brussig switches back and forth between the various phases of Klaus's intellectual and sexual development. These phases encompass his education or "indoctrination" in the GDR school system and at the Stasi training facility, and his ever more titillating fantasies and perverse acts, with which he gradually becomes ever more obsessed, eventually connecting them in his mind. Brussig evokes humor by contrasting Klaus's perversions with these "serious" institutions of "real existing socialism," which in retrospect can be described openly as having been permeated with absurdities and contradictions. The idealistic goals of these ideological, organizational structures appear absurd when contrasted with the actual results they produced (see the Stasi section below). In some cases these structures also appear odd or funny in and of themselves, when viewed from an external, _____________ 43

Body and Narrative in Contemporary Literatures in German. Herta Müller, Libuše Moníkovà, and Kerstin Hensel (Oxford: Clarendon, 2005) 18.

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Western perspective. To deconstruct these blatantly ideological edifices, Brussig does not need to resort to exaggeration; a naturalistic description suffices to expose them as artificially fabricated and propagandistic.44 In retrospect, after communism's demise in Eastern Europe, these structures and their ideological justifications can appear farcical.45 Klaus's faith in the system stems both from his family and from his thorough indoctrination in GDR public schools, including being taught about and assigned to read socialist biographies and history books (99). This indoctrination gradually becomes intertwined with the inferiority complex and obsession with sex he develops because his penis is observably smaller than other mens' and thus potentially less potent. Guilt over this penal obsession causes him to sublimate his feelings into an obsession with the socialist ideology and its influential adherents. Communist tales of sacrifice and glory spark his imagination, especially the story of Ernst "Teddy" Thälmann (a Communist Party leader killed by the Nazis) and his bodyguard, "der kleine Trompeter" (96-97). Implanting the seed that gradually grows into strong sexual urges, Brussig blends the image of the "kleiner Trompeter" in Klaus's imagination with his small penis, also a kind of "small trumpeter," so that Klaus deludes himself into believing he is no less than the reincarnation of this man (101). Klaus's constant pairing of sex with socialist goals, at first endearing, understandable, and even likeable, later develops into a grotesque idée fixe that by acting out his perverse, sexual fantasies, he can further the socialist cause and attain fame in the process. From the start Brussig connects Klaus's strong identification with the GDR to his protagonist's low self-esteem and naiveté, further degrading him as the novel progresses by depicting him as a young man who, despite a preoccupation with his own sexual feelings, continually reveals himself _____________ 44

45

Naturalistic descriptions belong to the arsenal of weapons satirists traditionally use to criticize societal structures. Often exaggeration is not necessary to expose these structures as corrupt or unjust. At a reading given by Erich Loest in Bonn in October 1999, Loest said that a naturalistic depiction of a person, circumstance, or event often appears satirically exaggerated, even though the author does not intend to exaggerate. No matter how accurate a person, circumstance, or event is described, such a verbal description mediates and thus abstracts it, contributing to the "Verfremdung" it may provoke in the reader or listener. As Brecht theorized, "Verfremdung" can lead the reader to re-evaluate or re-think circumstances (s)he has taken for granted. Although the GDR system may appear absurd from the outside and with hindsight, most GDR citizens managed to arrange themselves within and conform to this system so that they could lead a relatively normal life. Whether they devoutly believed in the socialist ideology or not was in many respects irrelevant; most recognized the fact that discrepancies existed between the ideology and its practice. This recognition only became significant in the context of the 1989 revolution, when internalized disagreements were converted into physical action in the form of public demonstrations.

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to be more ignorant than other young men about courtship and intercourse. At the Stasi training camp, where the other young men express opinions about women's bodies, Klaus wonders about this practice: "Frauen haben also eine Figur, über die man reden kann und über die man sich so seine Vorstellungen machen kann. Was es nicht alles gibt!" (124). Ignorance and naivete alienate him from his peers, hindering the development of friendships or love relationships with others who might have counteracted his mother's negative influence. Brussig marks him as a loser and an eternal outsider who, unable to establish lasting, meaningful relationships with men or women, cannot succeed at enjoying even the simplest of pleasures without incurring some sort of punishment for his actions, like getting gonorrhea the first time he has sex (130). Brussig binds together sex and socialism to illustrate how, as Sigmund Freud proposed, repressed sexual instincts can be channeled into obsessions, in this case into sexual perversions, delusions of grandeur, and a paradoxically strong yet superficial adherance to socialist ideology. The socialist ideology itself, however, as Brussig characterizes it, also lends itself to a religious-like devotion, in which the believer does not question the ideology's real-world legitimacy or effectiveness. According to Brussig, socialism has little to do with Karl Marx's original revolutionary, humanitarian, and both mentally and physically liberating agenda, but has become an empty slogan in which only neurotic or dysfunctional individuals such as Klaus and his parents actually believe. Klaus automatically adheres to the socialist ideology because adults have indoctrinated him to believe that it is the "right thing to do" and that it will eventually succeed in spreading to the entire world. Klaus, being an obedient child who needs this type of ideological crutch, thus takes his country's absurd ideological statements literally. This display of naivete brands him as an object of ridicule, both within the GDR context and from the reader's postwall perspective. At first Klaus's sexual problems and frustrations provoke laughter because they are titillating and silly. Though somewhat extreme, they may be viewed as natural childhood fascinations. By the third chapter of the novel, however, as Klaus's "innocent" teenage sexual fantasies become more obsessive and perverse, the reader ceases to sympathize with him and may react to his perverse revelations with disgust or pity. One such problem which poses a challenge to Klaus is his need to suppress his constant erections. Klaus first experiences an erection when he sees the well-known GDR TV show hostess Dagmar Frederic, whose appearance he compares to Nancy Reagan (67). In making this comparison, Klaus perhaps insults Frederic—Nancy Reagan was one of the most uneroticlooking and -acting women in the public sphere in the 1980s—but he also

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allows people unfamiliar with Frederic's GDR TV personality to join in the laughter. From this point on, Klaus is plagued with how to hide or subdue his erections, and his methods are as amusing as they are extreme: he stops drinking liquids, nearly destroying his kidneys; he puts a Rubik cube in his pocket to hide erections; he distracts himself by thinking about math and imagining gruesome scenes. When nothing else works, he tries to remain seated as much as possible (68-71). "Meine ganze Pubertät über hatte ich nichts anderes zu tun, als meinen Ständer wegzuräumen" (71). These examples demonstrate Brussig's ability to depict Klaus's childhood obsession with his budding sexuality as silly and entertaining, encouraging reader identification with his typical adolescent anxieties. Klaus's sexual obsession and loyalty to the socialist ideology increasingly conflict with one another, however. When Klaus experiences his first nocturnal emissions, he considers masturbation to prevent their reoccurrence, but finally decides that this would not be compatible with socialist morality: "Moral als Preis für Erkenntnis? Und das im Sozialismus? Nicht mit mir! Lieber ein Beflecker von Bettwäsche als ein Beflecker der sozialistischen Idee!" (84). Klaus believes one must live an upright life in order to display conformity to socialist ideals. Here, Brussig pokes fun at moral standards which were actually obsolete in the official discourse of the GDR in the 1970s and '80s. At the V. Parteitag der SED in 1958, Walter Ulbricht (First Party Secretary of the GDR, 1950-1971) had proclaimed that all Socialist Unity Party members should follow a set of moral laws which he called the "Zehn Gebote der sozialistischen Moral."46 Although these ten "commandments" were interpreted in various ways by politicians and scholars, they served as relatively strict guidelines for East Germans to follow regarding moral questions. Believing their proclamations should conform to these guidelines, up to the early 1970s GDR scholars and pedagogues of human sexuality and socialization (Erziehung) advocated that children be taught marital and family values, proclaiming that male-female relations in a socialist society should take place in a "sittliche[n] Partnerschaft, in Liebe, Ehe und Familie," so that all citizens could achieve self-actualization and high productivity.47 Except for the accompanying socialist rhetoric, this party-approved "socialist" morality corresponded surprisingly closely to middle-class Christian values in the West in the 1950s and '60s. By the 1970s, however, most GDR scholars realized that teenagers and young adults in East Germany were _____________ 46 47

Hartmut Zimmermann, et al., DDR Handbuch, vol. 2, 3rd rev. and exp. ed. (Köln: Verlag Wissenschaft und Politik, 1985) 918. Bernd Bittighöfer, "Sozialistische Geschlechtsmoral und Erziehung der jungen Generation zu sittlich wertvoller Partnerschaft," Pädagogik: Zeitschrift für Theorie und Praxis der sozialistischen Erziehung 9 (1965): 791-800.

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engaging in premarital sex and needed to be taught more about it at an earlier age.48 Progressive books like Siegfried Schnabl's Mann und Frau intim, which Klaus reads, no longer argue for the repression of sexual desire or behavior.49 In fact, as the Western German scholar Susanne Zimmermann reveals, the "Form und Inhalt von Aufklärungsbüchern in Mitteldeutschland [i.e., in der DDR, sind] in ihren Grundzügen durchaus mit hier erschienenen Büchern dieser Thematik vergleichbar."50 Thus, it cannot be the official, scientific discourse on sexuality in the 1970s and '80s which Brussig undermines, but rather Klaus's mother's particular brand of traditional, middle-class sexual morality. Klaus's super-ego's adherance to these moral dictates (in opposition to his instinctual, idbased actions), which belong to the 1950s and '60s, indicates his mother's success in embedding in him old-fashioned, conservative bourgeois values in a post-bourgeois socialist context. Throughout Helden wie wir Brussig has Klaus act in ways that may be interpreted as satirical criticisms of East German social conventions or ideologies. One such act that can be viewed as a comment on the GDR as a "typical," repressive socialist society is Klaus's response to his teenage nocturnal emissions. After deciding not to masturbate, Klaus is still left with the problem of stained sheets every morning. Feeling guilty about what his mother will think, he buys himself four sets of sheets with a large blotchy pattern to camouflage his problem: "Tarnfarben [. . .]: weiße Bettwäsche mit unregelmäßig aufgedruckten bräunlichen Flecken der üblichen Größe und in reichlicher Anzahl" (87). Fearing his parents' queries about why he purchases so many sheets, he describes his father's potential reaction thus: Ganz der Stasi-Vater! Verhör! Er ist wahrscheinlich Vernehmer. Er ist der Mann, der immer die Lampe anknipst und ins Gesicht hält, der mit hochgekrempelten Ärmeln durchs Zimmer stakst und bei dem man sich das Glas Wasser erst verdienen muss. Und zu Hause stellt er auch seine Fragen. Hat er ja gelernt. (88)

As stated above, Klaus's perceived need to hide his sexual behavior from his mother and father parallels GDR dissidents' need to hide nonconformist activities from the Stasi, just as his mother's thorough, stifling surveillance and his father's firm authority parallel those of the Stasi. _____________ 48

49 50

See Kurt Starke and Walter Friedrich, Liebe und Sexualität bis 30 (Berlin: VEB Verlag der Wissenschaften, 1984). The West German scholars Barbara Bronnen and Franz Henny wrote in 1975 "auch in der DDR sind erste sexuelle Erfahrungen mit vierzehn keine Seltenheit, sind Partnerwechsel und Ehescheidungen Probleme, die zwingen, ein Tabu zu brechen und diese Themen in der Öffentlichkeit zu diskutieren" (Liebe, Ehe, Sexualität in der DDR, München: Piper, 1975, 8). Berlin: VEB Verlag Volk und Gesundheit, 1974. Sexualpädagogik in der BRD und in der DDR im Vergleich (Gießen: Psychosozial, 1999) 12.

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Sexual and political subversion thus meld into one as the central target(s) of GDR repression. With this detail and others, Brussig comments on the "culture of secrecy" which developed in the Soviet Union and other socialist countries out of citizens' fears of being punished for acts which their government or secret police might consider subversive or ideologically dangerous. Individuals particularly feared exposure of any kind, because this exposure could turn them into Others, outcasts, or even untouchables to be avoided at all cost. Such an outsider status could shut an individual out of socialist society, in effect preventing him or her from participating in it. By portraying Klaus as paranoid about this type of exposure, Brussig disparages his protagonist and the socialist mode of existence as a whole, which, if Klaus is taken as typical, is portrayed as a mode of existence which encouraged paranoia in its citizens. Ironically, the more Klaus strives to avoid becoming an outcast, the more of an outsider he becomes. Some of the extreme sexual perversions Klaus exhibits in the novel's second half Brussig obviously included in order to shock the reader by putting Klaus beyond the realm of normal sexual development. Although he continually experiences strong feelings of guilt when acting on his sexual obsessions, Klaus's ambitious designs for converting the world to socialism spur him on to further perverse extremes, until he concocts a means to harness his sexual perversions to further his political goals. At this point Klaus's behavior becomes pathological, and the novel ceases to be charming, achieving a high level of the grotesque similar to that in some ancient Greek and Roman satires or in Rabelais's sixteenth century novel Gargantua and Pantagruel.51 Some examples of the extremes to which Klaus resorts in acting out his perverse drives are: he copulates weekly with a "Broiler" (grilled chicken), then eats it (239-40); he unsuccessfully tries to create a "Lippensimulator" (called a "Fellatiomat") by melting marshmallow elephants and shaping the resulting goo in the form of lips (250-1); throughout the summer of 1989 he culls tadpoles from a pond and places the same number of them in a condom as refugees from the GDR escaping daily to Hungary, puts on this condom, and enjoys feeling them squirm around (255-6). Each of these acts plays a role in Klaus's ambitious vision to research perversions, record them in a catalogue, and, like Sigmund Freud or Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, offer them to the masses in _____________ 51

Petronius's Satiricon and Apuleius's The Golden Ass are examples of such texts. Mikhail Bakhtin developed his theory of the carnivalesque through a critical reading of Rabelais's Gargantua and Pantagruel. Rabelais's excessive and repetitive narrative style is reflected in the novel's wild, orgiastic form and content.

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the GDR as a revolutionary alternative to their mundane lives.52 Instead of admitting that his actions are morally reprehensible, however, he justifies these perverse actions by attempting to cover up his true motivations, arguing that they will contribute to bettering socialist society. Here Brussig pushes Klaus to the logical but absurd end of his perverse path. In doing so, as an author he fulfills the requirements of the picaresque genre by taking his character to the utmost extremes.53 Brussig's constant manipulation of the reader's sympathy for Klaus anchors Helden wie wir to the tradition of the picaresque novel. The picaresque hero perpetually attempts to enter mainstream society but consistently fails to attain integration within this sphere. In general, Brussig's exposure of contradictions between socialist ideology and "real existing socialism," embodied by the conflict between Klaus's perverse desires and utopian ideological goals, is an effective critique. Repeated ad absurdum, however, by the end of the novel the motif of sexual obsessions comes to detract from the novel's artistic merit, as Klaus's naivete, shocked reactions, and perverse plans eventually become predictable. Had Brussig condensed his descriptions more, his attacks would have been more poignant and effective. Emphasizing Klaus's talkativeness and pathological development was apparently more important to the author, however, who intended his character to stand in the satiric tradition of Rabelais, Grass, Irving, and Roth, whose works are based on overdetermined, excessive narration. Deflating Stasi Manipulation and Abuse of Language Brussig's satirical depiction of the Stasi is a further, dominant topic in the novel.54 Klaus's Stasi assignment, training, and "career" are portrayed _____________ 52

53

54

Brussig highlights Klaus's general cultural illiteracy by having him refer to Sigmund Freud as a man who provided a "revolutionary alternative" to antiquated societal structures on a par with V. I. Lenin. While Freud's psychological analyses were revolutionary, they were more diagnostic than prescriptive. Scatological elements add to this grotesquery. Klaus's father, for example, dies when tumors block his intestines, preventing his feces from being excreted. Klaus comments that if his father had not died so quickly: "Irgendwann hätte er sich wahrscheinlich zu einem einzigen Stück Scheiße verdaut, das hundertzehn Kilo schwer ist und mit einem Schlafanzug im Bett liegt" (256). The father's death is a nightmare Brussig creates as one example of what he (Brussig) and the reader may view as just punishment for the most insidious of Stasi officials. According to Joachim Gauck, former head of the "Behörde des Bundesbeauftragten für die Unterlagen des Staatssicherheitsdienstes der ehemaligen Deutschen Demokratischen Republik" (the committee responsible for sorting out the Stasi files), the GDR Ministry for State Security had over 90,000 full-time employees and at least 150,000 so-called unofficial

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primarily in the novel's fifth chapter, "wbl. Pers. Str. hns. trat 8:34," a title that already signals another of Brussig's main themes: the Stasi's selfimportant, but ultimately ineffectual, abuse of language. In order to delve into his fictional "true" Stasi mentalities, motivations, and activities, Brussig has Klaus become one of them. Paul Cooke points out that by having Klaus become a tool of the GDR secret police, Brussig uses the appropriation of authority in a fictional context as a means of its subversion, basing his argument on Judith Butler's view of "the parodic inhabiting of conformity" as a means to call the specific norms of conformity into question.55 Through Klaus's eyes, Brussig reveals the Stasi from behind the scenes to be a paradoxical institution, simultaneously dangerous and chaotic. Klaus joins this secret police organization after graduating from secondary school for four overt reasons: 1) his megalomania leads him to believe he can become powerful and famous by serving as a secret agent; 2) his repressive upbringing under his mother's watchful eye has led him to desire further masochistic subordination; 3) his authoritarian, Stasi agent father invites him to become one of "them" ("Sag mal, du fängst doch auch bei uns an" [92]); and 4) he believes that by joining the Stasi he will contribute to the GDR's implementation of socialism. The fact that Klaus joins the Stasi with all its corruption, however, marks him as a person whose socialist ideals have become corroded. The Stasi was an organization that perpetually intimidated and abused GDR citizens, eventually leading them to rebel against the GDR state. The role Klaus's father plays in encouraging him to join the Stasi indicates the authoritarianism of the entire system Brussig critiques. The Stasi actively pulls Klaus into its fold by appealing simultaneously to his inferiority and guilt complexes. Working for them makes him feel wanted, protected, and needed, as his parents never did: "ich werde geschützt, geführt und geleitet, ich muß nicht allein durch die nackte windige Welt irren. Jemand hält seine Hand über mich. Was auch geschieht—ich bin aufgehoben" (111). Just as his belief in the eventual _____________

55

employees ("inoffizielle Mitarbeiter," called "IM" for short). See Joachim Gauck, "On German Thoroughness. Analyzing the 'Stasi' Files," Alexander von Humboldt Stiftung, 19 November 1999, 1 February, 2001, . "From Opfer to Täter? Identity and the Stasi in Post-Wende East German Literature," Legacies and Identity: East and West German Literary Responses to Unification, British and Irish Studies in German Language and Literature, vol. 31, ed. Martin Kane (Oxford, et al.: Peter Lang, 2002) 51-66, 58. Cooke quotes Judith Butler from "Gender is Burning: Questions of appropriation and subversion," in Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of Sex (New York: Routledge, 1993) 121-140, 122. Butler's comments, though made in the context of gender relations, seem applicable to satire and parody in general.

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world victory of socialism had consoled him at times when he felt inferior to his peers and strengthened his resolve to fight for the socialist cause as a youth, he hopes that by joining the Stasi he will gain respect and appreciation from the state for his efforts. He believes that if the GDR is a "good" or powerful state, and if he works to increase the state's status by working for the Stasi, by association he will also be "good" and have a real stake in the growth and expression of this power. The overblown enthusiasm and pathos behind Klaus's ideological convictions soon contrasts comically with the reality he experiences as a Stasi agent. Initially the Stasi appeals to Klaus's megalomania by making him feel important. Before actually working for them, he bursts with exaggerated pathos describing the duties he associates with his future role, hoping to fulfill secret missions as if he were a GDR James Bond (although the film model Klaus explicitly mentions is a GDR spy movie entitled Das unsichtbare Visier from 1973, with Armin Mueller-Stahl [170]). Brussig depicts Klaus satirically as a man with fully developed delusions of grandeur who overestimates this role by falling prey to illusions and clichés attached to secret agents. Upon receiving his first "konspirativen Auftrag," he responds in his mind with a barrage of questions: Was? Ich? Heute? Konspirativ? Auftrag? Den ersten? Von uns? Hinter Schnürsenkel [dem Stasileiter] stehen Mächtigere, die große Dinge mit mir vorhaben? Die mir auch meinen zweiten und meinen dritten konspirativen Auftrag zukommen lassen werden, vielleicht an noch größeren Konferenztischen? Bin ich schon mittendrin in geheimdienstlichen Abenteuern? Lebe ich ab heute gefährlich? Bewege ich mich im Fadenkreuz der Groß- und Supermächte? Muß ich jetzt eine Sonnenbrille aufsetzen? (110).

The reader laughs at Klaus's assumption that he will need to put on a pair of sunglasses to hide his identity because it fits the stereotype of secret agents as they are often depicted in Hollywood films and because of the incongruity between his reference to the danger and importance of the job and the triviality of his concern for how he should dress. Klaus initially overestimates his role in the Stasi by falling prey to such clichés, viewing himself as a "lebende Legende unterwegs in historischer Mission" (110), "Wie im Film!" (111). He constructs this "legend" for himself to boost his sense of self-importance and enthusiasm for the job. In glamorizing this job, he fails to realize at first that in reality the Stasi is a repressive, dangerous organization whose main goal was to observe "suspect" individuals over long time periods. The everyday reality of a Stasi agent, contrasting with Klaus's illusions, soon reveals itself to be neither romantic nor exciting. In having Klaus relate his past experiences to Mr. Kitzelstein from a "present," postwall position of greater awareness, Brussig produces a type of irony that results from the temporal, spatial,

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and emotional distance of the narrator to that which he narrates. This irony is doubled, however, in that Klaus uses it to refer to his own past, but Brussig also applies it to Klaus, making him the object of the author's (and reader's) ridicule. The way the Stasi manipulates Klaus's damaged psyche serves as a harsh critique of the organization itself, its members, recruits, and recruiting system. Through Klaus and his father, Brussig not only attacks the Stasi as an organization, he also strikes out at typical individuals who joined the GDR secret police, implying that they were psychologically abnormal. This emphasis on the deranged psychology of Stasi agents fails to account for the reasons motivating "normal" GDR citizens to become "inoffizielle Mitarbeiter" (informants), though. In typical satiric style, using Klaus as the skewed lens through which he views the Stasi, Brussig focuses on particular aspects of the institution, neglecting others. Brussig presents thus a one-sided, comical view of the organization not intended to reflect its true nature, but also intentionally somewhat misleading. Throughout the novel Brussig repeatedly pokes fun at the Stasi by bursting its threatening aura. The Stasi officer who recruits Klaus is an unassuming, non-threatening man he calls "Herr Schnürsenkel" (Mr. Shoelaces) because he cannot remember the man's name (108-9). Allowing Klaus to describe his initial contact with a Stasi recruiter euphemistically, Brussig trivializes the organization, making it appear innocent and cute. At first, Klaus feels superior to "Herr Schnürsenkel," because the man appears so harmless and average. Later, Klaus becomes disillusioned with the Stasi, realizing how cleverly the organization fooled him and others into believing it was innocuous. In reality its members consciously strove to appear harmless to recruits so as not to intimidate them or allow their moral consciences to hamper their desire to join. To hold his Stasi characters up to critical scrutiny, Brussig flattens Klaus's colleagues into figures more puppet-like than Klaus's parents. The Stasi officials who are Klaus's "superiors" in the workplace—Major Harald Wunderlich, Oberleutnant Martin "Eule" Eulert, and Hauptmann Gerd Grabs56—are intellectually quite inferior to Klaus. Brussig depicts them as bumbling idiots, comparable to the Keystone Cops or the Marx Brothers. Their incompetency makes Klaus appear clever. Whereas they are exposed as ideological conformists who follow orders unquestioningly (albeit not to the letter), Klaus contributes useful suggestions so that they _____________ 56

As in other satires here, these characters' names bear meanings. "Wunderlich" means peculiar or eccentric; Eulert's nickname "Eule" means "owl," an animal whose large eyes capable of seeing in the dark are a perfect metaphor for Stasi observation activities; "Grabs" could refer to a "Grab" or grave, but also to the verbs "grabbeln," to fumble an object or seek it by fumbling around, or "grabschen"/"grapschen," meaning to grab.

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can all perform their jobs more efficiently. Despite the wackiness and impracticality of Klaus's perverse societal visions, these ideas appear original compared to the others' opportunistic obedience. Despite the fact that their job is insidious and violates human rights, Klaus's Stasi agent colleagues also appear comical because they do not fully comprehend the ideology behind the reason for their existence. Their ignorance and misconceptions of this ideology, combined with their frequent focus on petty concerns and compulsive behavior, are further attributes that contribute to their deceptively harmless appearance. Eule, for example, repeatedly parrots the phrase "das ist die Negation der Negation" at inappropriate junctures. Rather than making clever and insightful allusions to Marxist philosophy's sources in Hegelian dialectics, however, Eule seems to think that "Negation der Negation" simply means anything that is self-contradictory. In an apparent reference to the Prenzlauer Berg scene and its notorious Stasi informers, Brussig puts the following brilliant explanation of post-structuralism in Wunderlich's mouth: "'Post-Strukturalismus, also – A – die Struktur der Post zu erkunden, um – B – im Spannungsfall die Effizienz unserer Nachrichtenwege zu unterminieren" (221). Wunderlich penetrates even deeper into this enemy plot by recognizing that he is in fact confronted with post-post-structuralism: 'Ein Beispiel', sagte Wunderlich. 'Bisher hätten sie im Spannungsfall einen wichtigen Telefonverteilerkasten zerstört. Der Schaden würde behoben werden, sowie er auffällt. Das ist die normale Situation im Post-Strukturalismus. Im PostPost-Strukturalismus weiß aber der Gegner ganz genau, A – welchen Telefonmonteur er anrufen muß und B – für wen er sich ausgeben muß, damit der wichtige Telefonverteilerkasten abgeklemmt wird. Durch gezielte Desinformation kann so bei allen Beteiligten der Eindruck erweckt werden, daß diese Situation regulär ist.' 'Der Schaden würde nie behoben werden', sagte ich. (222-223).

At this point the overheated paranoid brains of these Stasi workers imagine that, through post-post-structuralism, the enemy could change time itself and bring about a final apocalypse by gradually undermining the postal system and thereby bankrupting the state. Klaus's pet fantasy, both megalomaniacal and ridiculous, is that he is being prepared for a special mission to retrieve sperm from the NATO secretary general so that the socialist world can clone this commander and have him deliver the west into their hands. The entire fantasy rests on Klaus's misapprehension of the word "microfiche": "Mikrofische, sind das etwas Fische, die sehr klein sind? So klein, daß man sie nur unter dem Mikroskop erkennt? Dann wären also die Mikrofische des NATOGeneralsekretärs . . . Au weia! Und die soll ich eines Tages, irgendwann, holen? Wie stellen die sich das vor?" (176). The central role Klaus

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imagines for himself not only allows him to indulge his ongoing fantasy of appearing in the headlines ("ich komme auf die Titelseiten" [177]); it also gives him a convenient way of harnessing his own sexual proclivities in the service of "the cause," thereby justifying them. This mythology of disciplined self-sacrifice, a well-worn trope of communist hagiography, culminates in the delusion that he "must" practice masturbating in order to prepare for his historic mission: Es ist wahr, ich habe, während ich mir einen runterholte, an Minister Mielke gedacht [. . .]. Genosse Minister, – floggfloggflogg – gestatten Sie, daß ich – es war sozusagen meine proletarische Pflicht – floggfloggflogg – weil mir ist von meinen Vorgesetzten angedeutet worden – floggfloggflogg, – daß ich eventuell – floggfloggflogg – die Mikrofische des NATO-Generalsekretärs – floggfloggflogg – [. . .] und wenn ich wenig Zeit habe – floggfloggflogg – da muß ich doch – floggfloggflogg – ich meine, da muß jeder Handgriff sitzen – floggfloggflogg – und da habe ich, wenn Sie verstehen, Genosse Minister – floggfloggflogg – sozusagen im Selbstversuch meine Mikrofische zutage gefördert – [. . .]. Genosse Minister, Sie sehen, daß ich kein widerliches Ferkel bin – floggfloggflogg – sondern für unsere gemeinsame Sache wichse – floggfloggflogg – für den Sozialismus – floggfloggflogg – und in humanistischer Tradition – [. . .] meine Onanie war der pure Patriotismus – floggfloggflogg – ich habe nicht zu meinem Privatvergnügen gewichst. (196-198)

With this absurd and narratively grotesque formulation Brussig not only underlines the perversity of the Stasi itself, but also the self-deluding mechanisms that allowed not only a Klaus Uhltzscht, but also many ordinary citizens, to justify actions that would otherwise defy human decency. This confusion of political duty with private morality characterizes Brussig's satire of the blurring of public-private boundaries under the Stasi regime. This trivialization of a criminal GDR institution does not completely obscure its threatening aspects, however, as Klaus includes detailed descriptions of acts of psychological terror he and the others performed on individuals suspected of plotting against the state. Not funny at all, these acts include breaking into private apartments and rearranging the occupants' possessions to unsettle them and give them the impression they are being watched and controlled by unseen forces, along with kidnapping one woman's young daughter for a day to coerce this woman into obeying Stasi demands. In presenting Klaus as an enthusiastic member of the Stasi, Brussig digs his satiric barbs deeper into Klaus's character, not allowing him to escape from his role as "Täter" (perpetrator) in the GDR. When compared with the systematic cataloging and opening of Stasi files which has exposed (and continues to expose) Eastern Germans who formerly belonged to the Stasi, whether as full-time agents or "inoffizielle Mitarbeiter," Brussig's generally comical depiction

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of the Stasi represents an alternative method to arrive at the root of the

organization's criminal nature, expose, and attack it.57

Bashing Christa Wolf: Brussig's Attacks on GDR Intellectuals, Women, and Ostalgie The final, significant topic Brussig addresses in this novel is the integrity, or lack thereof, of GDR intellectuals. In attacking East Germans who adhered to the socialist ideology, he also targets intellectual wannabes who, like Klaus, aspire to immortal fame by being "geistvoll" (17). Brussig develops this theme throughout Helden wie wir by having Klaus refer to his "historische Verantwortung" (5) and quest to become a "lebende Legende unterwegs in historischer Mission" (110). Klaus would like to gain fame for himself both as an intellectual and as a catalyst who altered the course of European history. Unlike a true intellectual, however, Klaus displays narrow societal visions and perverse theories which mark him as completely unworthy of comparison to such individuals. His constant striving for fame, including the desire to win two Nobel Prizes (for Peace and Literature), characterize him as an intellectual wannabe. Brussig demonstrates on the novel's first page that Klaus will never achieve his goal, however. After two years of labor, Klaus has never been able to write more than the first pompous paragraph of his autobiography. With this brief excerpt of the only text in which Klaus has thus far been able to record his biography in writing, Brussig highlights the ironic contrast between Klaus's high expectations of himself and the rambling, perverse image he exhibits with his oral narrative. Brussig's mockery of the institution of literature is indicative of the generation of Eastern German writers and artists to which Brussig belongs. Completed in 1995, when Brussig was only 30 years old, Helden wie wir displays a distance from, and harsh critical perspective on, the GDR, which works by earlier generations of GDR authors do not generally exhibit. The main reason for this perspective is that by the late 1980s this age group of East Germans was faced with a decaying socialist _____________ 57

Originally led by the East German Lutheran Pastor Joachim Gauck, whom the Western German government appointed in 1991 to sift through Stasi files to uncover the full extent of the organization's crimes, the Office of the Federal Commisioner for Documents of the Former GDR's State Security Service ("Behörde des Bundesbeauftragten für die Unterlagen des Staatssicherheitsdienstes der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik") will still take years to complete its work. For brevity, most Germans referred to the Federal Commissioner's Office as the Gauck-Behörde during Joachim Gauck's tenure. Since Marianne Birthler took over the Office in October 2000, however, it is now referred to as the Birthler-Behörde.

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society that had lost its credibility. The group "neither shared the conflictridden identification of previous generations with the antifascist state and the idea of a socialist utopia, nor did it invest its stagnation and decline with a similar resignation and disillusionment."58 In order to emphasize the differences between the younger generation in the GDR, which Klaus represents, and older generations, Brussig points an accusatory finger at one of the most prominent and canonical of all East German authors: Christa Wolf.59 His satirical attacks of her begin with repeated references to her call for the creation of a new language and portrayal of her own Stasi observation in Was bleibt,60 and culminate in the last chapter of Helden wie wir, entitled "Der geheilte Pimmel," an obvious pun on Christa Wolf's canonical, critical, and influential novel from 1963 Der geteilte Himmel. On November 4, 1989, Klaus witnesses Wolf's famous speech held at the Alexanderplatz in East Berlin, in which she states: Stell dir vor, es ist Sozialismus und keiner geht weg! Wir sehen aber die Bilder der immer noch Weggehenden und fragen uns: Was tun? Und hören als Echo die Antwort: Was tun! Das fängt jetzt an, wenn aus Forderungen Rechte, also Pflichten werden. (285)

In this speech Wolf calls for GDR citizens to remain in the GDR and fight for a new, better form of socialism. Called "der dritte Weg," this path was supposed to bring more democracy, equality, freedom, and human rights to existing GDR society. Five days later the Wall was toppled, however, making Wolf's speech look like a plea for conformity to the old, corrupt system, in lieu of the revolution. Displaying a remarkable ignorance of GDR culture, Klaus hilariously mistakes Wolf for the well-known East German ice-skating trainer, Jutta _____________ 58 59

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Margit Frölich, "Thomas Brussig's Satire of Contemporary History," GDR Bulletin 1 (1998): 21-30, 21. See also Wolfgang Emmerich, Kleine Literaturgeschichte der DDR, rev. ed. (Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 1996) 404-405. Christa Wolf (b. 1929) wrote several novels and short stories that catapulted her to international fame in the 1960s and established her as one of the most critically acclaimed GDR authors to this day. Her image as a critical and persecuted GDR author was tarnished, however, both by her 1989 speech and the Gauck-Behörde's discovery in 1993 that she had been an "informeller Mitarbeiter" for the Stasi from 1959 to 1962. For more information on Wolf and her texts, see Henk de Wild, Bibliographie der Sekundärliteratur zu Christa Wolf (Frankfurt a. M.: Lang, 1995). To learn more about the 1993 scandal, see Hermann Vinke, ed., Akteneinsicht Christa Wolf. Zerrspiegel und Dialog (Hamburg: Luchterhand, 1993). Though Brussig does not mention Wolf's past Stasi collaboration explicitly here, since Klaus only narrates his biography up to the fall of the Berlin Wall, the knowledge Brussig had of this fact additionally motivated him to attack her in his novel. In an interview with Birgit Lahann for the magazine Stern, he said regarding Wolf: "Sie war IM [ …]. Sie war's nicht lang. Aber als erstes hat sie nach dem Fall der Mauer publiziert, wie sie verfolgt wurde. Sie hätte schreiben sollen, warum sie IM wurde" (24 Aug. 1995) 144-6, 145. See Foell and Twark for a discussion of these allusions to Was bleibt (187-189).

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Müller,61 who coached another GDR icon, Katharina Witt, to Olympic gold: Daß eine Revolutionsrede von einer Eislauftrainerin gehalten wird, kann ja in der Aufregung mal passieren—aber daß eine Schriftstellerin die Revolutionsrede einer Eislauftrainerin hält—nee, also diese Dimension der Harmlosigkeit war nicht harmlos! (304).

Initially only degrading Wolf by placing her on a par with an ice-skating trainer, Klaus later realizes his mistake, and angrily questions Wolf's motivation for holding such a pacifying speech at such a historically crucial moment. He reads through Wolf's numerous books published in the GDR and concludes: Mobilisierte sie ihr ganzes Können nur, um mit einem Satz alles wieder zurückzunehmen? Oder war gerade das ihr Können—jede Behauptung wieder zurückzunehmen? Das war selbst für einen Leser wie mich, immerhin einen Inhaber von fünf Bibliotheksausweisen, gewöhnungsbedürftig. (297)

Expanding his critique, Klaus associates her, along with Jutta Müller and his own mother, with a particular type of GDR matron, whose belief in the socialist system originated in her experiences during and after the Second World War: "Diese Mütter und Eislauftrainerinnen hängen wirklich am Sozialismus. Sie sind aus den Trümmern der tausend Jahre gekrochen" (287). To Klaus, these women were enthusiastic conformists, whose attitudes, actions, and/or writings buttressed the power of the GDR state, and who insisted on propagating their beliefs throughout GDR society. Klaus views Christa Wolf as a particularly dangerous representative of this group because her books were read by so many East Germans. Marion Löhndorf writes: "'Unsere Christa' ist ihm [Brussig] Synonym für feinsinniges Drumherumreden, für eine sedierende Wirkung der Literatur. [...] Wer Christa Wolf gelesen hat, sagte Brussig in einem Interview, hat die DDR sicher nicht so gehasst, wie sie es verdient hätte."62 Picking up the traditional view of women as embodying society's "moral voice," Brussig lambastes Wolf and other engaged female socialists by attaching the stigma of crime to this traditional role.63 He claims that _____________ 61

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Brussig most likely came up with the idea to integrate an ice-skating trainer into this scene by reading Kerstin Hensel's 1991 novel Auditorium panopticum, in which Hensel critiques GDR state manipulation of the body for political purposes through the character of Ramona Hufschmied, a world-famous rollerskater, and her strict trainer. "Wer hat die Mauer umgeschmissen?" 10. See Keith M. May, Characters of Women in Narrative Fiction (New York: St. Martin's, 1981). Among other views of women in literature, many of which are negative, May traces the more positive literary depictions of them as "the pinnacle of man's spiritual aspirations" in 12th century courtly poetry/songs through Henrik Ibsen's late 19th century view of them as being "better qualified than men to let in fresh air," to Iris Murdoch's "moralizing" through her female characters (22, 109, 165). Ann Taylor Allen explains how "[t]he ideal of spiritual

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by adhering to, and propagating the value of, socialist ideology, these women contributed to the perpetuation of a corrupt system. Brussig's campaign against Wolf aims not only at the generation of "true believers" in socialism, but also at East German Frauenliteratur of the 1970s. He hammers home Wolf's gender by repeatedly calling the Müller/Wolf composite "die Mutter aller Mütter" (288, 316). Gender matters: Klaus's emancipatory erection is not only the political statement of "ein politisches Buch mit sexuellen Mitteln," as Brussig has called the novel; it is also a decided reassertion of manhood against what was perceived as a stifling, over-protective, maternalistic state. Helden wie wir capitalizes on one of the continuing, and explicitly sexist, tropes of German unification: that a weak, incompetent "feminine" East Germany was carried over the threshold to freedom by an enterprising, viable, "masculine" West that has now installed itself at the head of the table and restored patriarchal order to the German household. This convenient representation erases the historical fact that the GDR was and remained to its end a male-dominated society, particularly in the upper echelons of State, Party and Stasi.64 Brussig's criticisms possess deep negative implications for all citizens who grew up in East Germany, as well as for many aspects of their socialization and psyche. On the surface Brussig pokes fun at Klaus, a young man with a combined inferiority and megalomaniacal complex. Through Klaus's eyes, however, Brussig also reaches out to attack and undermine several levels of GDR society. Lurking behind all of his criticisms is his mixing of "good" and "bad" in ways which emphasize the difficulty people often have in distinguishing clearly between the two, whether they exist within an ideology, an institution, or an individual figure. On the most abstract level Brussig implies that the ideology GDR politicians and citizens adhered to was an artificial construct used to encourage passivity and obedience to the socialist system. Analogously, Klaus's autobiography is a powerful satire directed against Eastern Germans who look back at the GDR nostalgically. Despite the fact that Klaus had been an avid supporter of the GDR before unification, looking back after the Wende he no longer feels affection toward his home _____________

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motherhood as a force for the overcoming of opposites, the reconciliation of conflict, and the building of community provided the basis for a specifically female standpoint on the process of nation-building" in the latter half of the 19th century (Feminism and Motherhood in Germany 1800-1914, New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1991, 95). See Mike Dennis, "The East German Ministry of State Security and East German Society during the Honecker Era, 1971-1989," in Paul Cooke and Andrew Plowman, eds., German Writers and the Politics of Culture, 3-24.

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country. His overwhelmingly negative childhood and young adult experiences have soured any sentimentality he may have once felt. To strike out at the socialist ideology and ostalgic Eastern Germans, Brussig dismantles empty phrases and slogans invented both in the GDR and during the unification process by playing with them, putting them in new, surprising contexts, or having them refer to different signifieds than those their creators originally intended. This signifier-shifting produces a humorous reaction while demonstrating a distancing/alienation from this language. He highlights the futility of Ostalgie, for instance, in the following statement: "Es kann doch nicht alles schlecht gewesen sein, um mal einen Ausspruch zu bemühen, den Helden wie wir blankziehen, wenn wir nicht weiterwissen" (26). The italicized phrase here was used by Eastern Germans after the 1989 revolution to rationalize having conformed to the GDR system for so many years. Expanding its meaning, Klaus uses this expression not only in regard to the GDR, but also in regard to his parents, to qualify his earlier demonization of them. Although used in a different context, the expression reveals itself to be a thinly veiled attack at GDR citizens who repeated it to justify both having supported the system and harboring post-Wende nostalgic feelings. Reiterating phrases like this coined in the GDR and/or during the unification process, Brussig increases reader awareness of their intended and unintended connotations. Through Klaus, Brussig also targets people who clamored for attention after the Wende, drawing notice by telling their autobiographies. Giving Klaus a psychologically disturbed voice, Brussig calls GDR narratives into doubt, implying that some Eastern Germans might be similarly corrupt or pathological. In this respect his criticisms resemble those Michael Schmitz offers in his psychological study of Eastern Germans, Wendestress: Die psychosozialen Kosten der deutschen Einheit, Henryk Broder's political analyses in Erbarmen mit den Deutschen, or Mathias Wedel's biting satirical attacks in Einheitsfrust.65 These authors all harshly condemn Eastern Germans for conforming superficially to the dictates of the GDR government and thus contributing to its perpetuation. Portraying Klaus's parents as caricatures, Brussig also critiques middleclass lifestyle and moral values, demonstrating these values to be integral parts of GDR society, despite years of socialization supposedly freeing East German citizens from their bourgeois habits. These aspects of the novel position Klaus in the German satiric tradition along with such infamous characters as Diederich Heßling from Heinrich Mann's Der Untertan (1918), Thomas Mann's titular picaresque protagonist Felix Krull _____________ 65

Henryk Broder, Erbarmen mit den Deutschen (Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1993), Mathias Wedel, Einheitsfrust (Berlin: Rowohlt, 1994).

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from Bekenntnisse des Hochstaplers Felix Krull (1954), and, as mentioned above, Oskar Matzerath from Grass's Blechtrommel (1959). Finally, Brussig thoroughly mocks Eastern Germans who claim to have been Widerstandskämpfer (insurgents) in the GDR and later to have become revolutionaries, succeeding in opening the Wall with persistence and courage. Klaus topples the Wall by being obsessed with his penis, in other words, for the basest, most disgusting reason possible, and completely by chance: "zufällig," while "auf der Flucht vor [s]einem Schwanz" (18). Klaus just happened to be on his way to visit an acquaintance who lived near the Berlin Wall when he stumbled on the protestors collected there. He had no prior plans to open the border (in fact, opening the border would seem to work entirely against his ideological beliefs), but rather was seized by an impulsive idea which happened to be successful. Klaus is a tragicomical anti-hero who captures the essence of the novel's ironic title, Helden wie wir. In the GDR every citizen was expected to strive to be a "socialist hero"—to do everything in his or her power to further the socialist system. Brussig exposes this struggle as a farce. He not only implies that history is always "zufällig" and cannot be planned or predicted, but also that the socialist system was not worthy of its citizens' support, and that these citizens were no different from people who grew up in the West. The parallels between Alexander Portnoy and Klaus Uhltzscht testify to this fact. The GDR system perhaps encouraged corruption and pathological behavior (as most clearly evidenced by the existence of enthusiastic GDR secret police officials), but this stands at odds with the Marxist ideology the state officially embraced. The ultimate irony in the novel is that Klaus himself only truly becomes a hero by contributing to this system's dissolution. In depicting Klaus as simultaneously earnest/naïve and perverse, Brussig distances himself from his protagonist in order to mock him. Emphasizing Klaus's dual roles as victim and perpetrator, Brussig prevents the reader both from fully empathizing with or completely rejecting him. Occasionally coming across as witty and clever, like the charming picaro, Klaus is not a solely negative character. His multiple wounds turn him into a megalomaniac and a calculating, passiveaggressive young man, but this ambiguity of his character adds to the suspense and quality of the text: Klaus is a character the reader enjoys despising. More interesting to examine, however, is the type of distance Brussig creates between his character and the potential reader. For Eastern German readers Helden wie wir is a double-edged sword. On one hand, an Eastern German may easily feel superior to Klaus, who, dominated by psychological complexes and social and sexual problems, takes his own life too seriously. On the other hand, this distance may be

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assessed as false, because Eastern German readers can identify with his experiences and the gullibility with which he buys into the GDR's brand of socialism, as they themselves have most likely had a few, if not many, similar experiences. Identification, in this case, must lead on the part of the reader to repulsion from or even fear of both Klaus's figure and sides of the reader's own inner self, based on the realization that Klaus's mental state and actions are for the most part despicable. Klaus embodies, albeit in exaggerated form, the neuroses the GDR system could and did exploit for political purposes. The Eastern German reader may thus laugh both at Klaus and with him during the novel until the laughter gets caught in her throat, whereas readers from the West may perhaps feel freer to laugh at him or pity him for his suffering. Both sets of readers will be fascinated and repulsed by his grotesquery and perversions, for, as Freud postulated in Civilization and its Discontents, civilizing societal constraints, by publicly repressing certain types of behavior considered dirty or perverse, lead to neuroses and/or the compulsion to indulge in them privately or via more public channels such as pornographic pictures or literature.66 Helden wie wir encourages the reader through humorous, satirical, and picaresque means to indulge vicariously with Klaus and his perversions.

Matthias Biskupek's Der Quotensachse Contrasting with Brussig's depiction of the "loser" Klaus Uhltzscht, Matthias Biskupek’s novel Der Quotensachse relates the fictional autobiography of a personally and publicly acknowledged winner. Biskupek's protagonist Mario, like Klaus, bears a funny-sounding last name of Slavic origin: Zwintzscher. Biskupek also employs the literary pose of oral delivery by having Mario narrate his biography in a speech for his friends, family, and the Bundespräsident at a convention honoring his achievements on behalf of the new federal state of Saxony following the 1989 revolution. After an initial, brief introduction in the present tense, Mario launches into his colorful biography in the past tense, glorifying his former exploits, which resemble those Klaus had planned but failed to perform. Because Biskupek has Mario deliver his speech in a formal, public setting, the author organizes it more coherently than Brussig does Klaus's interview, depriving it of much of Klaus's gushing pathos. Like the interview, however, the presentation extends beyond the limit of any real, formal speech, reaching 193 pages before the Bundespräsident relieves Mario from the podium to announce the other speakers. _____________ 66

Trans. Joan Riviere (London: Hogarth, 1957) 82-85.

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Frank Quilitzsch, one of few literary critics to have interviewed Biskupek and written a press review of the novel, labels Mario's autobiography "eine Flunkergeschichte, die sich gleichermaßen an glatten wie krummen Lebensläufen reibt."67 Quilitzsch refers to both the invented and real personalities Biskupek interweaves to spin an exaggeratedly optimistic yarn about East(ern) Germany. Der Quotensachse traces Mario Zwintzscher's life from his birth in Leipzig in October 1949 up to the mid-1990s. Born two weeks after the GDR's founding, Mario's life parallels GDR history. Whenever an event of national or international political import occurs in the GDR, Mario reacts to this event in a way that alters his own life. Biskupek himself terms Mario's life story "ein auf die politische Situation gelegter Lebenslauf" (Appendix 2, 327). In this way Mario assumes a symbolic significance, embodying the GDR. The book’s subtitle, Vom unaufhaltsamen Aufstieg eines Staatsbürgers sächsischer Nationalität, alludes to Bertolt Brecht's stage comedy Der aufhaltsame Aufstieg des Arturo Ui, which Brecht wrote in 1941 while in exile in Finland.68 With this subtitle and various parallels between the protagonists' biographies, Biskupek connects his titular hero, Mario, to the gangster Arturo Ui, whom Brecht had intended to represent Adolf Hitler. Brecht attacked in his play both Hitler's criminal methods of gaining power in Germany in the late 1920s and early '30s and society's role in allowing this "gangster" to rise to power by such means. Biskupek's allusion adds a dark layer of meaning to Mario's rise to power in Saxony following the Wende. As proud of his exotic-sounding, Italian-GermanSlavic name (his middle name being "Claudius," which he associates with the canonical German Baroque poet Matthias Claudius) as he is of his Saxon dialect, Mario rises from the child of middle-class parents in the small Saxon town of Ainitzsch an der Zschopau to become a statistician and information engineer/factory historian at a large factory in Magdeburg, ending up as a celebrated politician representing the new federal state of Saxony in the 1990s. Although his tactics and antics cannot be compared directly to those used in the past by Arturo Ui or Hitler, his morals are also not pristine. Like these figures and Klaus Uhltzscht, he often believes the ends justify the means when it comes to furthering causes he supports. Thus he enters the tradition of opportunistic and false heroes Brecht had also critiqued.69 _____________ 67 68 69

"Die Wendungen des Mario Claudius Z.," Berliner Zeitung 18/19 January 1997, 50. Brechts "Aufhaltsamer Aufstieg des Arturo Ui", ed. Raimund Gerz (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1983) 181-185. This book contains the play itself, critical commentary, and primary documents elucidating its publication history and Brecht's theory of satire as social critique. A few aspects of Der Quotensachse also point toward it being a parody of Erich Loest's autobiography Durch die Erde ein Riß (Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1981). Biskupek,

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Tracing Mario's biography to the mid-1990s, Biskupek creates a satirical panorama of the GDR, the FRG, and unified Germany. The main literary devices the author employs to construct this panorama include a picaresque, opportunistic protagonist who, as a proud Saxon and calculating schemer, acts within various social milieus and geographic locations within Germany; an inventive use of language; an episodic narrative style; and multi-perspectivity, which allows him to comment on the distortion that results when individuals relate their own biographies and when outsiders attempt to do so. A Typically Saxon Opportunist Like Brussig's Klaus, Biskupek's Mario satirically counters the nostalgic GDR memories and plaintive unification criticisms contained in many post-Wende texts. Instead of complaining about how difficult his life has been, he takes the opposite approach. On the first page he exclaims: Es geht mir verdammt gut, und das ist nicht gut so. Normalerweise ist das Leben wie eine Verkehrsampel. Es leuchtet sehr lange rot und lange gelb und ziemlich kurz grün. Bei mir aber dauert die Grünphase schon viel zu lange, und das kann, das darf eigentlich nicht gutgehen. [...] Ich komme aus einem gruseligen Staat und lebe in einem angesehenen Land. Ich wundere mich nur, warum das Programm des Niedergangs bei mir versagt.70

A classical opportunist, Mario does whatever necessary to achieve success in the GDR and in unified Germany. His opportunistic activities include denouncing critical authors such as Wolf Biermann and Manfred Bieler in a pro-GDR speech after the 11. Plenum71 in 1965, and appearing on Western German talk shows as a "quota Saxon" in the 1990s. As he grows _____________

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like Loest, emphasizes the uniqueness of his protagonist's Saxon origin: Loest was born and raised in Mittweida, Saxony, a small town located on the Zschopau River (similar to Biskupek's fictional Ainitzsch); Biskupek, born in Chemnitz, was raised in Mittweida. Whereas Loest focuses on the strength of the working classes in Saxony, who opposed the National Socialists until they were incarcerated for being communists, Biskupek blames Saxony's troubles in the 1930s and early '40s on the "Germans," emphasizing the difference between Saxony and these "other" Germans. Finally, as Loest uses his autobiography as a means to clear his conscience for having been an adamant Nazi in his youth, and to tell the true story of his subversive activities and subsequent imprisonment in the GDR, Biskupek also has Mario admit his guilt for having conformed to the GDR system and express the desire to speak the truth about his no longer acceptable behavior. This simile comparing life to a traffic light demonstrates Mario's distorted view of reality; most traffic lights do not function this way. At the 11. Plenum the Zentralkomitee der Sozialistischen Einheitspartei harshly chastised authors and artists who deviated from the socialist realist path the government had prescribed in the early 1950s by experimenting with new art forms or openly criticizing the GDR system.

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up, he experiences situations common to other GDR children, as well as a few more unusual events that add fantastical, surreal qualities to parts of the novel. Most of these situations highlight Mario's ability to manipulate events in his favor. In the first of these, Biskupek forces him to learn to cut and file metal plates in a GDR factory during his secondary school vocational training (40-45). All GDR children were required in one form or another to participate in this type of hands-on training as part of their education to foster understanding of industrial production methods and the working class. Mario escapes the worst of this training by becoming an ideologue whose tasks include holding the aforementioned speech and making Wandzeitungen, billboards filled with political slogans and pertinent pro-socialist newspaper articles. He thus avoids having to spend too much time learning the actual tasks of a machinist and still receives a high grade on his certificate of achievement. A further fantastical event Biskupek concocts for Mario occurs when, as a university student, he is officially invited on a group field trip to visit the former First Party Secretary Walter Ulbricht at his home near Berlin during the Weltfestspiele in 1973.72 Here he witnesses Ulbricht's grotesque demise after having been kept alive by robotics (65-66). Following this visit Mario returns to the technical university in Dresden and completes a civil engineering degree with a thesis on the robotics-related subject of "digitale[r] Weg- und Winkelsteuerung" (66).73 Despite having to undergo many trials and tribulations, Mario always manages to achieve success or at least come out looking good. His exaggerated optimism, eternal success stories, and desire to be the best citizen possible in unified Germany are not to be taken literally, however, but rather, as in Helden wie wir, as ironic masks he wears to conceal the wounds he has suffered in the GDR and during unification. Mario's graphic description of Ulbricht's demise after having been "remote-controlled" for days and other fantastical scenes allow Biskupek, like Brussig, to stray away from more serious accounts of GDR and unification history. As an unreliable narrator, Mario enables Biskupek to play with this history, turning it back on itself to critique it. Although Biskupek's novel encompasses many major events in GDR history, and in German history generally during and immediately following unification, the author's main goal is to shed light on the irony of Saxon history and the Saxons' position within the greater German context. _____________ 72 73

The Soviet Union and its satellites organized the Weltfestspiele as a kind of international Olympic Games for young people mainly from socialist countries to encourage international friendships and cameraderie. In 1973 the games were held in East Berlin. Here, Biskupek alludes to himself. He graduated with a degree in engineering (in the field "Kybernetik," or cybernetics, the study of electronic machines that simulate human brain activity) from the Technische Universität in Magdeburg.

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Biskupek's descriptions of Saxony, as seen through Mario's eyes, bear directly on Mario's biography. Like his fellow Saxons, who picked themselves up from the ruins and made the best of difficult situations in the past, Mario repeatedly survives various trials. Because Saxony fought for centuries on the losing side of numerous battles, however, the rest of Germany has come to see the Saxons as eternal losers. The Saxons, in many respects, have developed into the laughingstock of Germany, despite their recent, heroic role in instigating the mass demonstrations in Leipzig and throughout the GDR in 1989 that led to its dissolution. In characterizing the Saxon state and portraying his protagonist Mario as a typical Saxon, Biskupek taps into negative stereotypes about the Saxons that have existed for centuries. These stereotypical characteristics that other Germans have applied to the Saxons, and a few the Saxons grant themselves, continue to influence relations between the two groups. In 1992 Saxon linguist Gunter Bergmann described outsider views of the Saxons and their dialect in his Polyglott-Sprachführer: Sächsisch thus: "Überall wird über das Sächsische gelacht. [. . .] Kein anderer deutscher Dialekt ist einer solchen Verachtung ausgesetzt wie der sächsische, keine Sprechergruppe wird so verspottet und verhöhnt wie die Sachsen."74 Despite the fact that, being prejudices, these stereotyopes have no scientific basis, they have developed and still persist for a number of reasons beyond Saxony's military misfortunes. These reasons have to do with the way Saxons speak, the way some of them have been observed to act, and the way they view themselves. A few common Saxon stereotypes judge this cultural and speech community to be "Spießbürger," or philistines, hard-working but conformist, "gemütlich" and friendly, but also chatterboxes and a bit naive.75 The most important Saxon stereotype to keep in mind when reading this novel is the concept of the Saxon as "vigilant." Here Biskupek writes the word as it is pronounced in dialect: "fischeland" (144). Derived from a French word meaning in English "vigilant" or "watchful," when used in a Saxon setting, it means "adaptable" and "cunning," but also "deceitful."76 This characteristic and _____________ 74 75 76

München: Polyglott, 1992, 4. See Claus P. Müller-Thurau, Die Sachsen kommen: Ein Psychogramm der neuen Macher (Hamburg: Rasch und Röhring, 1991) and Oliver Hofmeyer, Sachsen: pauschal (Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1998). Gunter Bergmann defines this word, which he spells "fichelant," thus: "Die Bedeutung dieses Wortes, mit dem sich die Sachsen selber gern charakterisieren, läßt sich nicht mit einer einfachen hochdeutschen Entsprechung wiedergeben, sondern vielleicht so: Sie finden sich in jeder Umgebung zurecht und in jeder Situation, sie können sich gut anpassen, weil sie geschickt und wendig (nicht: windig!) sind.—Ganz eng berührt sich hier die Bedeutung dieses Wortes mit der von helle (hell), das auch für eine sächsische Eigenheit zutreffend sein soll und das aufgeweckte, aufgeschlossene Verhalten bezeichnet.

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the others mentioned above accord with Mario's opportunistic, gregarious, and paradoxically naive nature. Although Biskupek does not openly refer to all of the above stereotypes in his novel, Saxons and non-Saxon Germans familiar with them will detect them in Mario. Originating before the GDR was founded, they persisted within the GDR microcosm, mainly being manifested in the over two-hundred-year-old rivalry between Prussia and Saxony. In Der Quotensachse Biskupek calls attention to these Saxon stereotypes by having Mario use Saxon dialect words and expressions throughout the novel, by granting him typically Saxon actions and attitudes, and by allowing him to reflect openly about his Saxon identity. Sometimes when Mario refers to or acts out these stereotypes, they appear humorous or endearing, but, since Biskupek has Mario refer to them often, they tend to become redundant. Within the context of this type of novel, however, one must realize that this redundancy is intentional, being a conscious rhetorical device Biskupek applies to his protagonist to mock his personality. A few of the many dialect words Biskupek incorporates into Mario's speech, displaying them in italics, are "gniedschn" (to whine, complain) and "quaddorn" (to chatter, talk incessantly). Mario also emphasizes the Saxon pronunciation of standard German words such as "Hygiene" (Saxon: "Higgenieh") or "hüpfen" (Saxon: "hubbm"). At first these words add humor because of the ways they deviate from standard High German, both orthographically and auditorily. Repeated incessantly, however, they may become bothersome to the (non-Saxon) reader. By including so many of these dialect words, Biskupek appears to target the novel specifically to Saxon readers. To help the reader unfamiliar with these Saxon expressions and ironically with a few Russian ones used by Mario and which East German children were taught in school to foster friendship between the GDR and the Soviet Union, Biskupek includes a "Liste fremdsprachiger Ausdrücke" in an appendix to the novel. The definitions Biskupek supplies, however, are often not merely literal, but rather pass judgment on or play satirically with the terms they supposedly elucidate. In this respect Biskupek's glossary resembles Gustave Flaubert's "Dictionary of Received Ideas," which this nineteenth-century French author compiled as an appendix to

_____________ Wer hier ein bißchen genauer und zwischen den Zeilen liest, der spürt, daß bei der Bedeutung dieser beiden Wörter fichelant and helle auch Negatives mitschwingt; denn Anpassung ist nicht in jeder Situation das Richtige, die Neigung zum Kompromiß ist zwar sicher klug und also helle, aber eben nicht konsequent und häufig deswegen nicht integer" (Polyglott-Sprachführer 6).

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his satirical novel Bouvard et Pécuchet (1881).77 Whereas Flaubert intended his "dictionary" to serve as a harsh critique of the bourgeois social conventions of his day, Biskupek actually desires both to help a nonSaxon reader understand the Saxon dialect better and to poke fun at this dialect which he grew up hearing and for which he developed an affection. Despite the fact that he depicts the Saxon dialect as sounding "funny"— both silly and odd—Mario's open, unwavering identification with it bolsters his Saxon identity. In his public speech, Mario believes he must display this identification to build up his image as a proud Saxon. Biskupek, however, by positing his protagonist within a picaresque, satirical context, holds up Mario's exaggerated patriotism as an ambiguous target to be admired and ridiculed. Mario's optimistic attitude and ability to twist facts to present himself in a positive light can also be seen in the way he deals with German and Saxon history. He refuses to wallow in feelings of ressentiment toward Germany's pre-1945 and GDR past, like many Germans have done.78 Instead, he wipes himself clean from German collective feelings of guilt and failure about World Wars I and II, as well as from any inferiority _____________ 77

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Trans. and intro. Alban J. Krailshammer (Hammondsworth, UK and New York: Penguin, 1976). Dina Sherzer identifies Voltaire as an originator of the fictional, satirical dictionary with his Dictionnaire Philosophique (1765-1770) ("Dictionnaires/fictionnaires: anamorphoses lexicographiques et encyclopediques," French Review, 63.4 [March 1990]: 642-651, 642). Jean-Jacques Thomas discusses similar dictionaries, including Philibert-Joseph Leroux's Dictionnaire comique, satyrique, critique, burlesque, libre et proverbial (1718-1786), Michel Leiris's Glossaire, j'y serre mes gloses (1939), and the index Georges Perec added to his 1978 postmodern novel La vie, mode d'emploi. Thomas points out that the latter half of the 19th century was a time when many great scientific dictionaries were being compiled in France, along with those devoted solely to etiquette and conversation for the bourgeoisie, which Flaubert lampoons in Bouvard et Pécuchet ("Poétique de la 'Betise': Le Dictionnaire des Idées Reçues," Flaubert et le comble de l'art: Nouvelles recherches sur "Bouvard et Pécuchet" de Flaubert 134). Biskupek's direct precursors, however, are more likely to be found in German dialect dictionaries, specifically the humorous Saxon ones Albert Kunze and Hans Reimann compiled in the 1920s and '30s. These include Kunze's 1000 und zwee Worde Säggsch (Leipzig: Bergmann, 1929) and Reimann's, Sächsisch (München: R. Piper, 1931). I use the word ressentiment here as Nietzsche defined it in Zur Genealogie der Moral. Ressentiment is the feeling of resentment a person can harbor toward his or her lot in life. It includes feelings of guilt or having had a lack of control over one's life in the past, which contribute to a person's present identity. Such feelings can prohibit or limit a person from developing to his or her full human potential, as Nietzsche advocated all people should do. The question of guilt and atonement for the atrocities they or their forebears committed during World War II has served as one basis of the German collective identity since 1945. Feelings of guilt or inferiority were common among Eastern Germans after unification because of the way Western Germans treated them, i.e., as second-class citizens. Biskupek's Mario suffers neither from inferiority nor guilt complexes for being from the Eastern German federal state of Saxony. He acts on his desires, displaying self-confidence and diplomacy. See Friedrich Nietzsche, Zur Genealogie der Moral in Nietzsche: Studienausgabe, ed. Hans Heinz Holz (Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1968) 46.

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complex regarding the GDR, by viewing the Saxons as a separate political and racial group: "Im Ersten und im Zweiten Weltkrieg waren es dann die Deutschen, denen wir unser nationales Unglück zuzuschreiben hatten" (6). In distancing Mario from the "other" Germans, Biskupek holds his protagonist’s strong Saxon identity up as an equivocal model (uniting positive and negative qualities) for all Eastern Germans. Poking fun at Mario's overly patriotic devotion, Biskupek plays with the concept of Saxon identity, underscoring the negative implications of Saxon stereotypes, but also countering them. Along with his diplomatic perspective regarding Saxony—by contrast to Brussig, who harshly condemns the GDR system and the citizens it produced—Biskupek also portrays the GDR as both a "gruselig"(5), or cruel, place to have lived, and quite habitable, if one knows how to manipulate the system. Through Mario's eyes the GDR with all its absurdities and inconsistencies appears as an entertaining, even enjoyable place to have lived, where individuals had as much freedom as in the West, perhaps more in some respects. Despite having to keep up the appearance of being a supporter of the system, since Mario possesses a strong will of his own, he learns how to manipulate this system successfully to get nearly anything he wants. He sleeps with Politoffizier Brigitte Detzscher to get a few extra days off from his army reserve training, and he switches jobs with his boss so that he, Mario, can travel around Saxony, stopping in his hometown of Ainitzsch along the way, while his boss gets to stay in the factory office as he wishes. Although the situations Mario arranges closely resemble those in Western societies, one must keep in mind that because Mario belongs within the picaresque hero tradition, the image of freedom Biskupek projects was not openly espoused by the GDR state or its citizens; rather, it is the type on which only opportunists can capitalize by engaging in unscrupulous behavior. The Politically Correct Gangster Embedding his protagonist in the picaresque tradition, Biskupek has Mario play multiple roles throughout the circa 55 years of his fictional existence. He is a student, a student council representative, engineer and researcher, husband, father, army reserve soldier, repeat talkshow guest, lecturer, politician, and "gangster." Through Mario the reader gets a glimpse into various GDR institutions and cultural-political events. Mario's descriptions of his experiences are tainted, however, not only by his one-sided view, but also by the fact that he has a clear political agenda to fulfill in his speech. In carrying out this agenda, Mario experiments with

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several means to come to terms with with his GDR past, all the while presenting himself as a competent, intelligent, and politically correct man—the right man to serve as a political leader in post-communist Saxony. Like Brussig's Klaus, however, Mario gets carried away in his speech and ends up looking rather foolish, occasionally even criminal. In order to demonstrate his ability to live up to Western social and political expectations, Mario adopts two tactics. First, he frequently admits his "guilt" and excuses himself to his listeners for his conformist behavior in the GDR. Second, he shares with the audience specific life philosophies and past actions of his which he considers to be politically correct. The first tactic is one to which a former Stasi agent might resort. Referring to his story as a "Gedächtnisprotokoll," Mario emphasizes his desire to confess the "truth" of his former, now unacceptable behavior. Calling his memoir a "Protokoll" also connects the text to Stasi protocols. In observing politically suspect individuals in the GDR, Stasi officials had kept detailed records of these citizens' activities, conversations, and correspondence. Later, these protocols were used to determine if punitive action was necessary to curb subversive behavior. Ironically, Mario sees his speech as a similar type of protocol of his own life. He uses it, however, not to expose others' activities like Hinrich Lobek in Der Zimmerspringbrunnen or Klaus Uhltzscht in Helden wie wir do, but rather to confess his own guilt and thus clear his conscience to assure the outside world of his loyalty to the Federal Republic of Germany. The pathos he injects into this confession and the way he turns it into a public ritual reveal it to be merely a tactic to gain his audience's sympathy and respect. He also poses as guilty in order to appease Western expectations of Eastern Germans; whether or not he actually committed a real crime in the GDR is irrelevant. Having Mario parade his guilt in this manner is one way for Biskupek to critique this method Eastern Germans have used to come to terms with their past. His mock confession dilutes those of people who actually committed serious crimes in the GDR by insinuating that all Eastern Germans were in one way or another guilty. If all Eastern Germans are guilty of some crime, then the collective guilt of the whole makes it harder to determine the level of seriousness of individual crimes. Similar to Brussig in his Stasi depictions, Biskupek makes Eastern German guilt appear silly, even superfluous. Viewing Mario as representative of the GDR as a whole is problematic because it begs the question of whether or not the GDR truly possesses a repressive, criminal past. Mario's one-sided and apparently harmless perspective leaves little room for a serious critique of GDR society or politics.

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The second method Mario applies to bolster his public image— exhaustively reporting anything he has ever thought or done that his audience might consider to be politically correct—would be appropriate to any aspiring politician. Mario uses this strategy to set himself above other Germans by distancing himself, for example, from those who hold xenophobic or sexist beliefs. His supposedly politically correct reflections often appear humorous because they are overblown or without basis in reality. For example, he claims not to be a racist because he is from Saxony, a place where Germans and Slavic peoples have mixed for centuries. He also treats women as sexual toys throughout the novel. When his wife escapes to West Germany through a border that has become porous, he does not pursue her, and invites his two daughters to visit him in Saxony only when he needs their presence on campaign posters to prove that he is a family man. Because Biskupek intentionally exaggerates Mario's character, the reader easily sees through his façade. Through Mario, Biskupek not only criticizes Eastern German opportunists, but also politicians in general. Taking Mario's opportunism to the extreme, Biskupek has his character create a new secret police organization after unification. Calling it the "Ausschuß zur Bekämpfung Unsolidarischen Verhaltens" (Committee to Battle Disloyal Behavior) and treating it like the U.S. "House Committee on Un-American Activities," Mario organizes this committee to root out Eastern Germans who do not display patriotic behavior toward the Federal Republic. The idea is ridiculous because of its contradictory nature: Mario wants to display his own patriotism and loyalty to his new country, the Federal Republic, and force other Eastern Germans to do the same by resorting to GDR secret police tactics. The extreme efforts Mario expends to found and nurture this organization demonstrate his willingness to prostitute himself to attain what he wants: political power and prestige. He not only instrumentalizes himself for this purpose, but in typical picaresque style he can also only see others as means to an end. Through the "Ausschuß" and with the help of his patriotic Saxon friends who also belong to the organization, Mario tries to influence the course of Saxon politics by tricky and occasionally illegal methods. He frames a board of trustee member of a Western German credit union, Dr. Juergen Schneider, as a kidnapper to prevent him from taking over the credit union in Ainitzsch, and he tries to prove that the local baker, Bäcker Weidenhammer, had collaborated with the Stasi in order to have a scapegoat against whom his "Ausschuß" can rally. Justifying his role in the first crime, he argues that he only wanted to protect Saxony from a Western German takeover. Instead of using his own words, however, to

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protect himself, he quotes the press agent of his partner in crime, the Saxon politician Maria Macheleidt, who stated that "Ainitzscher Einrichtungen von Ainitzsher Bürgerm geleitet werden müßten. Manche Leute von außerhalb kämen arrogant und anmaßend daher: außen Edelstein und innen faules Holz" (167). His reason for pursuing the local baker was to root out former Stasi collaborators in order to "purify" the Saxon territory of former communist criminals. The irony in this action is that he himself conformed to the system whenever he thought such conformity might help his career. Portraying himself as a Saxon Robin Hood: "Die Räuber sind immer die Guten und Gesetzlosen," and his adversaries as "Schambambel": "die Bösen, die Vertreter der Staatsmacht," he feels free both to commit these criminal acts and to talk about them openly in his speech (167). Allowing Mario to admit openly to committing these crimes, Biskupek not only attacks Mario's lawlessness, but also Western German entrepreneurs who sought to make a profit in Eastern Germany by exploiting the Eastern Germans' inexperience with capitalism. Eastern German society, which, in its helplessness, allowed such crimes from both sides to go officially unpunished, also serves as a target. Despite the severity of his critiques, Biskupek still holds Mario up to his audience as a new brand of Saxon hero. Having Mario deliver such a speech at a large, public convention, he implies that corrupt politicians can gain immense popularity, sympathy, and recognition for their shady activities, if only they justify them properly. East-West Stereotypes: Mario Zwintzscher Takes on the West The way Mario describes Western Germans and Western Germany after unification makes one wonder why he is so loyal to their country, the FRG. In a chapter entitled "Mein erstes Wessi" Biskupek confirms the stereotypes about Western Germans that Rosenlöcher, Schirmer, Sparschuh, and other Eastern German authors had chronicled a few years earlier. He describes Mario's first encounter with a "Wessi" as: nach Wessi riechend. Die Wessi-Schuhe trugen eine Marke, die Wessi-Hose Kunstknitter; ein Wessi-Obergewand (Boutique) deckte anmutig den Leib. Der wessifrisierte Kopf wurde von einem Wessi-Hut gekrönt, unter dem es mit Wessi-Stimme hervorsprach: Grrüßgottt. (129)

Although this West German is identifiable as a Bavarian, viewed superficially, all West Germans initially appeared to East Germans as smelling, dressing, and acting similarly. They are self-confident to the point of appearing arrogant, patronizing, and overly concerned with their outward appearance, when compared to most East Germans. Mario reacts

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to this overwhelming West German figure understandably with astonishment: "Verwirrt sagte ich Gutengrüßtaggott, da wir damals noch bemüht waren, Ost und West irgendwie zu vermengen. Inzwischen wissen wir, daß sich Feuer und Wasser nur dann verbinden lassen, wenn man einen Kochtopf dazwischenstellt" (129). Biskupek here implies that Eastern Germans, like himself, will be "cooked" and Western Germans will "eat" the resulting stew.79 Although he may be cooked, Mario knows he will always find a way to come out looking good. Biskupek not only criticizes Western Germans, but he also exposes Western German society and its institutions as being equal in absurdity and manipulative power to those in the GDR. In a chapter entitled "Im Innern der Talk-Show," he allows Mario to gain insightful impressions of Western Germany by appearing on televised talk shows sometimes representing Saxony, at other times all Eastern Germans. The talkshow moderators are generally misinformed; their shows degrade the guests by striving to entertain the viewers in any way possible. Mario experiences West Germany as a place where no one really seems to take life seriously, but where serious consequences can result if one does not pay attention to one's position and surroundings. One example of this type of Westernstyle danger lurking in unified Germany is the aforementioned tendency for Western German businessmen to buy up or otherwise claim Eastern German factories and businesses for themselves, leaving Eastern Germans to obey their demands and/or to suffer the consequences of unemployment.80 In a chapter entitled "Vom besseren und vom besten Wissen," Biskupek attacks Western German intellectuals from a different angle than Brussig does by having Mario come in contact with a group of linguists at a conference held by the "Haus des Deutschen Dudens" in Mannheim. Called "NNN—Die einigeN deutscheN SpracheN," the conference is convened by linguists researching German dialects in order to discuss the question "gibt es überhaupt verschiedene deutsche Sprachen?" Biskupek depicts these linguists as overly pedantic fanatics who conduct utterly useless research (157). When Mario tries to present his own experiences with the repression and censorship of the (Upper) Saxon dialect in the GDR, the professional linguists cut him off and offer to send "Aufbauhelfer" to Saxony "um das ursprüngliche mitteldeutsche Wortgut _____________ 79 80

In the 1990 horror film Das ostdeutsche Kettensägenmassaker, directed by Christoph Schlingensief, Eastern Germans straying into the West are literally turned into sausages. Though Biskupek only refers briefly to this Western German practice in this novel, Mario's actions against Dr. Juergen Schneider might represent the wishes of other Eastern Germans to get revenge against Western Germans who took over their formerly state-run factories and fired vast numbers of workers.

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und die traditionelle Lautierung dort wieder heimisch zu machen" (160). In this episode Western Germans demonstrate an unwillingness to listen to what Mario the Eastern German really has to say (perhaps also because he is not a Saxon dialect scholar). They patronize and insult him, leaving him feeling baffled and exploited. Western and Eastern Germans thus both suffer under Biskupek's satirical attacks.81 Die früher vormals ehemalige Ex-DDR: Linguistic Playfulness Like the other satirists here and elsewhere, Biskupek plays with language, including official terms and pictorial symbols, to produce humor and to increase awareness of linguistic and iconical use and misuse both in the GDR and in the newly unified Germany. He takes full advantage of the German language's word-building and rhyming capabilities, manipulating familar expressions or literary quotes to grant them new meaning.82 When playing with words, expressions, and icons Biskupek usually exposes them as empty slogans or symbols. For example, parodying Karl Marx, Mario states: „Die Geschichte ist eine Geschichte von Schulklassenkämpfen" (30). Here, Biskupek trivializes Marx's famous quote about historical class struggles by reducing it to a petty fight between pupils from different school classes. Describing the daily ritual at school of raising the blue flag representing the Freie Deutsche Jugend, Mario ponders: Der Freundschaftsratsvorsitzende [...], der Manni, durfte „Heißt Flagge!" sagen. Eine blaue Fahne stieg in den Winterhimmel. Solches also, das hatte ich nun gelernt, hieß „Heißt Flagge!". Oder hat es geheißen „Flagge heißt!"? Sollte es vielleicht doch „Flagge hißt!" geheißen haben? War die Verheißung der Flagge eine zu hissende oder zu heißende Flagge? Mir wurde heiß, angesichts der Flagge [...]. (32)

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Despite his negative experiences with Western Germans and the FRG, there are at least two reasons for Mario harboring feelings of loyalty to his new country. First, he definitely enjoys more social and political freedom in this free-market, democratic society. The GDR system was dangerous because of Stasi and government repression; the Western-style system with its commitment to human rights makes it easier for him to get ahead. In particular, as this system was in flux in a rapidly evolving Eastern Germany following unification, he was easily able to usurp the power necessary to found his "Ausschuß" and to become an elected Saxon politician. Second, this display of loyalty is consistent with his opportunistic nature. He realizes that it does not matter if he actually holds loyal feelings toward the FRG or not, as long as he can reap social, professional, and financial benefits by displaying these feelings publicly. See also Gerd Thomas Reifarth, "Can oil unite with water? Braun and Biskupek on German disunity," Relocating Germanness, ed. Patrick Stevenson and John Theobald (Houndmills, UK: Macmillan, 2000) 75-90.

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Playing on the multiple meanings of the verb "heißen": "to be called," "to command," and "to mean"; as well as the verb "hissen," meaning "to hoist" (a flag), whose imperative form "heißt" is orthographically identical to the second and third person singular and second person plural forms of the verb "heißen;" the noun "Verheißung," which means "promise" in the sense of "indication, as of a successful prospect or future; basis for expectation,"83 and the adjective "heiß," or "hot," which, in the expression "mir wurde heiß," means "I got angry," Biskupek puns his way to a critique of the social conventions and ideology surrounding the flagraising at the start of each GDR schoolday. Not confining his linguistic attacks to socialist rhetoric, Biskupek also thoroughly mocks (mainly Western German) post-unification references to Eastern Germans and the GDR, as well as specifically Western verbal utterances previously confined to Western German territory but encroaching on Eastern Germany after unification after it officially became part of the West. A few such Western German references to East Germany are: "die ehemalige DDR" ("the former GDR") and the "ExDDR." Mocking the inference in these expressions that the GDR belongs to the past, whereas all East Germans still viewed the GDR in the early 1990s as their very recently dissolved homeland, Biskupek coins the term "die früher vormals ehemalige Ex-DDR" (157). Like Brussig, Biskupek also picks up the phrase Eastern Germans use(d) after unification to justify having conformed to the socialist system and turns it into a single, compound word: "Eswoarnichallesschlechd" (136). If some aspects of the GDR were not bad, then Eastern Germans can justify their conformity to a system their Western neighbors tend to view too negatively. Getting revenge on Western Germany, Biskupek/Mario later refer(s) to the Federal Republic as having "christliche Wohlstandstraditionen" (136). Here Biskupek uses an oxymoron to allude to the paradoxical role Christianity has played in determining the course of Western society. The phrase calls attention to the fact that many Western Germans who adhere to Christianity have supported, and continue to support, a capitalist, freemarket (i.e., exploitative) economic model. Episodic Narration and (Auto)biography as Factual Distortion Mario tells his life story as a series of brief episodes, contextualizing Saxon, GDR, and unification history for the audience much the same way _____________ 83

Webster's New Universal Unabridged Dictionary, ed. Jean L. McKechnie, 2nd ed. (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983) 1440.

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Klaus does for his interviewer. These episodes more closely resemble the picaresque scheme, however, in which the picaresque hero repeatedly encounters dangers or conflicts from which he must extricate himself. With each episode, as with each new role Mario plays, the reader gains insight into a different aspect of his life and life in East Germany from 1949 to 1995. Through this narrative format Biskupek comments on the fragmentary nature of memory, keeping those memories alive which he considers valuable. Whereas the narrative focus in Brussig's novel was Klaus's sick psychological profile, Biskupek emphasizes Mario's ability to manipulate to his favor any circumstance in any type of society. The novel's last eight pages, consisting of Mario's friends' and his mother's brief encomiums unduly praising Mario for his courage in having fought for freedom and democracy in the GDR and during the unification process, contradict the facts and details of the life which Mario has just related and thus relativize Mario's tall tales. These speeches are Biskupek's means of illustrating and criticizing how history—in this case focused on one individual's biography—can become distorted to the point of inaccuracy when recounted from a highly biased perspective. This distortion need not have negative repercussions, however. On the contrary, as mentioned in my Introduction, Biskupek has asserted that Der Quotensachse bears a utopian message that emerges when Mario's friends and family stand up and tell Mario's life story from a different perspective, praising him as a hero who has, among other things, "christlich gehandelt und christlich gefühlt" and "sich derweil mutig vor die bundesdeutsche Botschaft gestellt und Freiheit für alle Rechtgläubigen gefordert," along with being "ä liebes Gind, noch bevor er Erschdebähbl wurde" (196, 198, 199). In glorifying Mario's past, these alternative biographies express the wish to view the past in a more positive light. After suffering following unification under Western German criticisms of the nation and society in which they grew up, Eastern Germans need to hear that the lives they led had and have value. In a roundabout way, Biskupek fulfills this need in his novel. In an interview conducted with Biskupek in June 1999, I asked him about the differences between writing satire in the GDR and after unification. He responded that in the GDR authors were supposed to say as little as possible and still change everything in society, whereas now they can say anything they want, but they will not change a thing (Appendix 2, 335). I also asked him if he saw his work as an alternative to the media, and he replied: Mir scheint es, daß es immer mehr zu einer Alternative wird. Nach 1989 schien mir die Betrachtung oft gerechter. Inzwischen [. . .] wird versucht, alles was in der DDR gemacht wurde, von einem ganz besonderen politischen, dogmatischen Winkel zu sehen. Da sage ich mir plötzlich, die DDR war größer, dieses Land war

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weiter und interessanter, als wie es jetzt dargestellt wird. Das habe ich früher nicht so gesehen. Erst in den letzten zwei, drei Jahren scheint es mir so, daß der Zweite Weltkrieg, oder was auch immer, immer einengender und, wenn Du so willst, restaurativer gesehen wird. Vorher hätte ich meine Werke nicht als so eine Alternative gesehen, höchstens eine humoristische Variante, aber nie als eine Alternative. Aber jetzt scheint es mir immer mehr so. Nicht nur meine Arbeit aber, sondern auch die meiner anderen Kollegen. (Appendix 2, 338)

While readers of Biskupek's novel may criticize it for its bizarre humor and perpetual ironic/satirical stance, similar to a historical novel it represents an original alternative to the media or to scholarly historical accounts of GDR and unification history. Presenting the GDR and unified Germany through Mario's eyes, Biskupek can provide details and ambiguities built into each system which outsiders might otherwise never get to know. Mario and the societies in which he lives do not appear completely black or white. Biskupek's specific ironic and satirical stance points out failings in all Germanies, yet makes these failings bearable by enabling the reader to laugh at them. Gert Thomas Reifarth interprets Biskupek's particular brand of satire thus: Biskupek shows the faults on both sides, east and west. In his texts he stands on terra firma, looks at the here and now, faces the new reality and examines what keeps people from accepting it. His satirical treatment of matters has practical implications; it invites us to question, to rethink, to change for the better. Also, it advocates a co-construction of getting accustomed to the new life, coming to terms with the past in an honest fashion and keeping a 'modernized' form of the old identity which does not endanger the process of inner unification. Biskupek's ideas are constructive and do not obstruct the view to the future. (Reifarth 89)

In Der Quotensachse, as in his other satirical writings, Biskupek creates his own space for inventing, depicting, and criticizing reality, instead of passively accepting others' depictions of this reality.

Reinhard Ulbrich's Spur der Broiler Similar to Brussig and Biskupek, as well as the authors in Chapter 1, Reinhard Ulbrich employs a goal-oriented, quirky male narrator along with multiple typical and atypical characters and linguistic playfulness to maintain a simultaneously humorous and satirical tone throughout his novel, Spur der Broiler. Like Brussig and Biskupek, Ulbrich has his narrator tell his life story from his birth (in 1953) to the time of narration, this time just a few months after unification. A major difference between the narrators of the earlier novels is that this one, Bernfried Freilich (called "Berni" for short), remains loyal to his East German home, despite the fact that he develops into a strong critic of real existing socialism before

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the Wende. Although initially a believer in the socialist system filled with self-importance and convinced his socialist mission will benefit society, Berni gradually becomes aware of the fact that socialist ideals do not match GDR reality. Described with the hindsight of the adult narrator looking back on his own biography, his entire life serves as a burlesque of this society. One major difference lies in Ulbrich's inclusion of his protagonist's teenage years, which Brussig and Biskupek gloss over by skipping from their narrators' childhoods to their young adult years. By depicting Berni's adolescence, Ulbrich is better able to show his protagonist's gradual adoption of a critical stance toward the GDR, which parallels the intellectual and emotional development characteristic of the German Bildungsroman, despite the fact that Berni often thinks and acts more in accordance with Wicks's description of a picaresque hero. Because Spur der Broiler unites characteristics inherent both to the Bildungsroman and to the picaresque novel, it may be considered a mixed genre novel. In emphasizing Berni's relationship to the GDR as both critical and affectionate, Ulbrich evokes a more conciliatory type of humor and satire than either Brussig or Biskupek. Thus, his novel appears harmless and "ostalgic," despite Ulbrich's claims to the contrary (Appendix 3, 391). Contributing to this harmless impression is the fact that Ulbrich, like Brussig and Biskupek, plays down the real threat to people who may have tried to subvert GDR institutions such as the Nationale Volksarmee. Unlike the other two authors, however, Ulbrich for the most part avoids the Stasi in his text.84 As Biskupek's subtitle openly alludes to a well-known play by Bertolt Brecht, the title of Ulbrich's novel also must resonate in the memories of Eastern Germans who grew up in the GDR. Spur der Broiler (Trace of Broiled Chicken) is a tongue-in-cheek reference to a canonical 1964 GDR novel written by Erik Neutsch, entitled Spur der Steine (Trace of Stones). Spur der Steine was a serious novel that problematized the development of classconsciousness among a group of East German construction workers _____________ 84

Ulbrich refers to the Stasi twice: once in the second chapter, "Nachbarn und andere Organe" (the word "Organ" refers to these state officials), and once near the novel's end. The first time they appear, young Berni observes them storming his neighbor's apartment, this man's only crime seeming to be his open homosexuality, as he regularly invites young men home. By the time the Stasi arrives, however, the man has already fled to the West. Despite this scene's threatening implications, it only takes up three pages and ends positively with the neighbor's successful escape. The second time Ulbrich refers to the Stasi occurs when Berni's friend Dorle travels to the West German city of Wuppertal to direct a classical music concert. Dorle is accompanied on her trip by two men called "Haufen & Henkel," who are supposed to observe her activities, but she seems neither to respect nor to fear them, mockingly referring to them as "Schlagersäger" ("pop cutters/sawers"), a pun on the word "Schlagersänger," or "pop singers" (142).

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during the early industrialization phase. Although Spur der Broiler resembles Spur der Steine in that both are coming-of-age narratives, the form and content of the more recent work diverge greatly from the original. Because the earlier work attracted wide critical attention in East Germany, both in its original form and in Frank Beyer's popular 1965 film version starring cult actor Manfred Krug, Ulbrich's title, in trivializing the "Steine" (stones, building blocks) by replacing them with "Broiler" (grilled chicken), resonates for Eastern Germans familiar with Neutsch's work.85 To Westerners, by contrast, the word "Broiler" symbolizes the differences between these two groups since it was one of the first typically East German expressions to become well-known in the West right after the Wall came down. Ulbrich's subtitle, "Wir und unser goldener Osten," puts a new twist on the German expression "goldener Westen," which implied that the West was a place in which to invest one's hopes and dreams. With this subtitle, Ulbrich suggests, not without irony, that the East was also worthy of its citizens' hopes and dreams. He might thereby also attract Eastern German readers who feel nostalgia toward their former home country or outsiders who wonder what aspects of this society, generally considered more grey than gold, might be considered "golden." Ulbrich's narrative strategies and topoi can be broken down into similar categories as those applied to the previous two novels in this chapter. In interpreting Spur der Broiler the novel's mixed genre form must additionally be discussed, because, unlike the other two novels, Ulbrich's unites the the picaresque novel with the Bildungsroman. Like Brussig and Biskupek, Ulbrich evokes humor and satire through the use of typical and atypical or grotesque characters, as well as through language. Taken as a whole, Spur der Broiler reflects the ideology of consumer culture as experienced in the GDR and other socialist countries, in which a substantial number of goods and services were perpetually scarce and western products were coveted, despite official propaganda touting domestic products and political suppression of those who indulged in the western, capitalist versions. The aforementioned topics—the mixed-genre form, humorous use of language, and depiction of GDR consumer culture—will be treated sequentially in the three sections that follow.

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Beyer's film version of the novel was forbidden nearly immediately after its release, despite the fact that it received much critical acclaim, and it was not re-released until 1990.

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Bildungsroman or Picaresque Novel? Because of their shared autobiographical nature, picaresque novels are often compared and contrasted with the Bildungsroman, a unique German contribution to the novel genre, the most famous example of its type being Goethe's Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre (1795-6). This genre emerged out of the specific, repressive socio-political circumstances and fruitful philosophical and literary explorations of the late German Enlightenment period. Literary historian Karl Morgenstern, the first scholar to define the Bildungsroman at the beginning of the nineteenth century, attributes two main characteristics to the genre. First, a Bildungsroman illustrates the protagonist's growth (i.e., "Bildung") from youth to maturity or early manhood. Second, by depicting the protagonist's development, a Bildungsroman contributes also to the reader's growth more than any other novel type.86 Although the term "Bildung" has no direct equivalent in the English language, and the German word itself has undergone shifts in interpretation over the centuries, Gerhart Mayer, by defining it rather broadly, allows the generic literary definition to be applied to works written from the eighteenth century on. According to Mayer, the type of "Bildung" associated with the Bildungsroman includes the protagonist's "entire character" development, encompassing a growing awareness of his/her individuality, identity, self-determination, as well as moral boundaries and creative abilities.87 "Bildung" means finding oneself and in the process gradually gaining independence from the dominating powers of nature, society, and culture (Mayer 13). The closest English equivalent to the Bildungsroman is the awkward term "novel of acculturation." Several characteristics of Spur der Broiler cast it as a Bildungsroman. Developing from a child to a young adult, Berni matures not only physically, but also intellectually and politically. As he gradually becomes aware of the contradictions between socialist ideology and real existing socialism, he takes a healthy rebellious attitude, neither persisting in his childhood opportunism as Klaus and Mario nor wallowing in despair. When unification comes about and he loses his job, he and his friends take positive action to launch a successful business. Having grown to recognize the GDR's failings, he becomes an adult who still values humanitarian ideals. His biography can serve as an optimistic piece of advice for unemployed Eastern Germans who feel helpless after _____________ 86 87

The above background information on the Bildungsroman was excerpted from the Walther Killy Literaturlexikon, vol. 13, ed. Volker Meid (Gütersloh and München: Bertelsmann, 1992) 117. Gerhart Mayer, Der deutsche Bildungsroman. Von der Aufklärung bis zur Gegenwart (Stuttgart: Metzler, 1992) 23.

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unification and counter Western stereotypes of Eastern Germans as passive and unmotivated. A look at Berni as a child highlights the considerable transformation in his character as he matures. Initially, Berni holds a high opinion of the socialist ideology as possessing qualities worth fighting for. He and his friends band together to form a "Kollektiv" under the premise of working toward a common, socialist goal of being "gesellschaftlich nützlich" (48). From the start, however, the group's true motivations lie not only in helping society, but also in earning enough money by any means necessary so that its members can purchase and eat grilled chicken. In school they all join the "Pioniere," like Klaus Uhltzscht, but instead of being inspired by socialist biographies, they learn the lesson that the best leaders of socialist institutions are often not the brightest. Their "Pionierleiter" Manne has absolutely no short-term memory, but at the rate the political slogans and policies shifted in the 1950s and '60s in the GDR, it was of greater benefit for Manne to forget to write up reports which would soon become obsolete than to carry out his duties to the letter. This type of bungling persists throughout the novel, eventually convincing Berni that the society in which he lives is perhaps not optimal. Although Spur der Broiler displays characteristics of the Bildungsroman, it also turns the high didactic ideal of the genre on its head. Ulbrich converts the noble struggle to find one's identity, implied by the word "Bildung," into a persistent struggle to attain consumer goods, symbolized pointedly and humorously by the recurring motif of grilled chicken. What prevents the novel from slipping fully from a Bildungsroman into a picaresque novel is the fact that Berni maintains his belief in working together with others for the better of the group and society. Offered the chance to flee to West Germany via Czechoslovakia or Hungary in the late summer of 1989, Berni consciously chooses his family, friends, and Heimat memories over political freedom and the chance to improve his economic situation: Trotzdem zog uns irgend etwas genau dorthin zurück, woher der ganze Schlamassel kam: die alten Zeiten, unsere Kumpels, die noch drin saßen, Alfons Zitterbacke aus dem Kinderbuch, der vorbildliche Täve—selbst wenn der jetzt in der Volkskammer schmorte —, von allem ein bißchen. (147)

At the novel's end, Ulbrich grants his narrator a fully-developed, mature personality and logical decision-making capabilities, which blend well with his critical, satirical stance toward his home country. It is normal for him not to accept blindly the GDR's flawed ideological and real structures. Berni's relatively "normal" character sets him apart from Klaus Uhlzscht and Mario Zwintzscher; as an adult he is neither megalomaniacal nor neurotic, nor particularly opportunistic. On one hand, this "normalcy" lends his character a greater universality; on the other hand, in an

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aesthetically-constructed literary context he appears more mundane, diminishing the novel's artistic merit. While the Bildungsroman aspects of the novel ground Berni in a realistic tradition, its picaresque details and structures grant the novel comical and occasionally grotesque qualities. From the start, Berni's unusual birth establishes his singularity and foreshadows his later entry into the chaotic, picaresque world of Ulbrich's fictional GDR. Ulbrich begins the novel a few days before this birth, however, because his protagonist, like Günter Grass's Oskar Mazarath, already possesses a fully conscious foetal ego.88 This fantastical circumstance appears comical in light of Berni's foetal hubris: his overblown sense of self-importance allows him to perceive his role as an actor outside the womb before his actual entry into the world. He also confuses a funeral ceremony for a nativity celebration in his honor. Overhearing his parents discussing whether or not they should attend a socialist party meeting, he assumes the meeting is to be held in honor of his pending birth: "Da ging es um MICH, und sie überlegten allen Ernstes, ob sie überhaupt hingehen sollten? Vielleicht verpaßte ich noch meine eigene Geburt" (7). At the meeting he remarks: "Ich fühlte mich sehr geehrt, daß so viele gekommen waren, wo es doch um MICH ging" (7). In actuality the meeting was called in order to mourn Joseph Stalin's March 1953 death, but Berni spoils the solemnity of the occasion by precipitating his own arrival. In this scene and others Ulbrich not only holds his own character up to scrutiny, but he also mocks the pompous, overblown style of socialist speeches in the GDR by having Berni believe the orator's eulogy refers to him instead of to Stalin. Like Klaus Uhlzscht, who appears comical for taking socialist rhetoric literally, Berni's naivete and sense of his own importance lead him to take this speech (and, later, socialist propaganda in general) literally, producing a comic effect. Further picaresque mechanisms in this novel include setting Berni apart from his fellow citizens and preventing him from verbalizing the full range of his emotions. Ulbrich distinguishes Berni's childhood from that of other GDR citizens by granting him a dual nature like Klaus's, producing a dichotomy between his feelings of superiority and his desire to further egalitarian socialist goals. At first, like Klaus, Berni naively believes he is "the new man" ("der neue Mensch") who will help usher in an age of successful socialist rule in the GDR (10). As both perpetrator and victim, however, like Klaus and Mario he undergoes various trials which disillusion him about his position in this society, as well as about the viability and justness of the socialist system. In order to maintain a _____________ 88

A further intertextual reference to Grass's Die Blechtrommel is Berni's calling his father "mein mutmaßlicher Vater," a phrase Grass's Oskar intones repeatedly because he does not know which of two candidates is his true father (Ulbrich 8, Grass 290, 334-335).

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satirical tone, Ulbrich has Berni display some intellectual but no real emotional development, avoiding psychological depth to prevent Berni's struggles from seeming insurmountable and his character from appearing plaintive. By granting Berni such picaresque characteristics, Ulbrich critiques the GDR more with his head than with his heart, allowing his sympathy for his home country, despite its failings, to shine through. Ulbrich's narrative style also follows the episodic, multiple storieswithin-a-story pattern characteristic of the picaresque. As Berni and his friends pursue their life's quest to still their "hunger" (a further common picaresque motif) by acquiring grilled chicken—in the GDR an at times rare and expensive food item—they entangle themselves in escapades resembling those from the U.S. television show Little Rascals or Erich Kästner's children's books.89 Compared to Klaus's and Mario's ambitious aspirations, Berni's life goal is more ordinary and requires less effort to achieve. Although the narrative is episodic, and the chapters are all of approximately equal length, averaging eight pages, the time span of the novel is distorted grotesquely, progressively gaining speed from start to finish. Rich in detail, Berni's childhood and teenage years, including his military service, take up the first three-quarters of the narrative. In the final chapters, however, this narrative becomes compressed, as Ulbrich summarizes the next 15 years of his character's life until unification. References to specific historical events that aid the reader in following the novel's chronology up to the early 1970s are lacking from this point up to the summer of 1989, when Berni and his family vacation in Hungary and notice that East Germans are escaping en masse to the West. This distortion conveys the impression that Ulbrich decided he had fulfilled his authorial agenda by the time he arrived at Berni's military experiences and yet felt the need to extend his protagonist's biography past unification in order to complete the novel. By the end, this compressed narrative style achieves fantastic proportions as Berni, Lausi, Dorle, and Udo's lives pass before their eyes in fast-forward review. This ending reinforces the nostalgia theme which permeates the novel from start to finish. Finally, one central topos that winds its way through this novel, as it had the other two, is the tension between rebellion and conformity. Berni _____________ 89

Kästner's famous children's books include Emil und die Detektive (1929), Pünktchen und Anton (1930), and Emil und die drei Zwillinge (1935). Berni and his friends' Herculean efforts to scrape together enough money to eat grilled chicken endear them to the reader as Kästner's child narrators' efforts to solve crimes do. Berni and his friends play the lottery at the fair, volunteer to wash dishes at a new restaurant that serves chicken, and collect paper and glass for the recycling refund. In collecting glass, they unsuccessfully try to steal empty wine bottles from their neighbor, eventually devising a plan to empty canning jars filled with spinach, justifying their actions with a famous quote from Karl Marx: "beim Spinat wehrten wir uns dagegen, daß das Sein das Bewußtsein bestimmen sollte" (43).

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and his friends simultaneously strive to fulfill two divergent goals: to satisfy their own selfish desires, and to further the socialist cause, i.e., society as a whole. This picaresque theme of alternation between rebellion against and conformity to society's norms determines Berni's thoughts and actions, as well as those of his friends. Ulbrich dwells on this conflict in order to elucidate the problems which young people experienced growing up in the GDR. The situations Ulbrich constructs, however, while specific to the GDR context, often resemble many similar situations young people in Western, capitalist countries also had to face in the 1960s and '70s. The source of his characters' rebellion as teenagers lies in their socio-cultural and material desires. Precisely those needs which, according to Karl Marx, socialism was supposed to fulfill for all members of a socialist society are not fully met in the GDR. In describing his characters' initial quest to acquire grilled chicken, then moving on to their tactics to obtain fashionable Western-style clothing and rock music (which they call "Beat"), Ulbrich draws parallels between rebellious, teenage culture in the GDR and in Western countries. A further reason for this surprising cultural parity is that the GDR institutions Ulbrich describes—primary and secondary schools and the military—also exist in the West, just under another ideological banner. The only difference between the repressive methods adults in the GDR and those in the West use (unsuccessfully) to coerce teenagers to obey society's "rules" appears to be the divergent ideological basis for imposing their respective brands of discipline, decorum, and "morality." The main differences between these institutions seem thus to be ideological rather than functional. (A)typical Characters and the Socialist Collective Mentality The typical and more atypical characters with which Ulbrich decorates his novel contribute to its didactic and entertainment value. These characters populate the novel so densely that the GDR emerges as a true "collective" society, in which the individual is forced to live, learn, and work together in groups. This group mentality accords with the socialist ideology, which, despite its failings, still had a substantial impact on citizens residing in socialist countries. Ulbrich demonstrates this impact by depicting Eastern Germans as individuals content to exist and act within these specific groups. Ulbrich paints group portraits to correspond with Berni's geographical locations and institutional involvement, thus they consist of the neighbors in Berni's apartment building; his circle of neighborhood and school friends; teachers and administrators; his fellow soldiers and army officers; his work colleagues; and his own, nuclear family, including

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his wife, Belinda, and his son, Willi. One conspicuous absence is Berni's parents, whom Ulbrich neglects to characterize fully, allowing them only to appear briefly and superficially throughout Berni's childhood and teen years. In preventing the reader from gaining a deeper insight into Berni's parents' personalities, including their moral and political views, Ulbrich keeps them, but also Berni, at a distance, adding to the flat impression the reader has of his character. The most influential group Ulbrich creates for Berni is his motley circle of friends. Each member possesses typical traits: Lausi, nicknamed "der Praktiker," always invents a scheme for the group to get what it wants, whether this be grilled chicken or back-window admission to a sold-out rock concert. Many of his tricks will be familiar to Eastern German readers as survival strategies. Because of his trickster nature, despite his position as a secondary character (he solely exists as Berni's friend, only appearing in conjunction with Berni's biography), Lausi may be considered the true picaresque hero of the novel. He serves as a picaresque foil to Berni the Bildungsroman hero. Udo, nicknamed "Sputnik" (after the Russian spaceship) is "der Denker," an asthmatic intellectual who later studies physics in Moscow; Dorle, the only female, is "die Künstlerin" because she can sing and dance. She later becomes an orchestra conductor. Berni himself becomes "der Ideologe," for obvious reasons—at first, he is the group's most enthusiastic supporter of socialist ideals and GDR political goals (22). The group sticks together, acting in concert as a rather harmless "community of rogues" throughout its members' childhood and teenage years until the boys are sent off to the military. At this point, even though Lausi and Berni end up at the same barracks, each basically goes his/her separate way, until the reunification of Germany reunites them again, too. The main message Ulbrich conveys through this character constellation is that friendship and a bit of finagling made living in the GDR not just bearable but even enjoyable. As a "community of roguery" Berni and his friends represent metaphorically the reality of GDR society. They display the survival skills necessary to live in a "community of scarcity." Their effective organization contrasts with the disorganized picture of GDR society Ulbrich constructs. One function of the group within this context is to undermine the greater society by working against it. Acting in concert to manipulate the loopholes and chaotic/ineffectual organization of GDR institutions, Berni and his friends get nearly anything they want, despite the government's restrictiveness. As Ulrich Wicks points out in reference to these groups as they have appeared in such diverse picaresque novels as Alain René Le Sage's Gil Blas, Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man, and Günter Grass's The Tin Drum, they "may serve as a satirical inversion of the social

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order; but, paradoxically, these brotherhoods are much more ordered and structured than the social order they ostensibly undermine" (Wicks 47). Berni and his friends have specific, clearly-defined names, roles, and duties within their collective. They thus provide a contrast to the chaos in the GDR as Ulbrich describes it, which, according to its ideological framework, ideally should have been much more ordered than it actually was. Compared to Berni's "Kollektiv," the GDR comes across as a verkehrte Welt. Other characters in the novel, though they play minor roles, testify to the author's vivid imagination. Some he identifies with "sprechenden Namen," like the neighbor "Onkel Drache" ("Uncle Dragon"), who is not nearly as terrifying as his name, or Berni's kindergarten teacher, "Fräulein Graul," who insists on being addressed as "Fräulein," though she is of retirement age, and whose name, "Graul," resembles the verb "graulen," meaning "to be afraid," "to have the creeps," or "to drive someone away by acting in an unfriendly or annoying manner."90 Berni chooses other nicknames according to personality types or professions, like the veterinarian "Fitzenkötter der Tierquäler" ("Fitzenkötter the Animal Torturer"91), or the soldier nicknamed "Dreibein" ("three-legged stool"), who topples Berni's whole regiment by marching out of step. Berni's neighbors and acquaintances introduce him and the reader to a broad panorama of positive and negative perspectives on life in the GDR. Although their members do not openly oppose the socialist system, the groups Ulbrich constructs also do not simply conform blindly to the socialist ideology. Berni and his friends are bound together by a common rebellion against authority figures who impose their power with too heavy a hand. Two figures Berni opposes stand out from the others in their narrow-mindedness and rigidity: "Kreisschulrat Berger," the district school inspector, and "Oberleutnant Krumbiegel," a military recruiter for the Nationale Volksarmee. "Kreisschulrat Berger," a strict, socialist ideologue, seeks out and tries to eradicate all imperialist American cultural influences in GDR schools, especially those that attract GDR teenagers in the 1960s and '70s. Like a police officer, he has a "Fahndungsliste" or "list of contraband" (81), which includes blue jeans, nylon jackets, long hair, and rock music (for example, Elvis, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones). "Oberleutnant Krumbiegel," whose name means "one who bends something until it's crooked," does just this: his role is to convince young _____________ 90 91

"Graulen," def. 1a and 2, Duden Deutsches Universalwörterbuch, 2nd. rev. ed. (Mannheim, Wien, Zürich: Duden, 1989) 629. This surname, "Fitzenkötter," derives from the verb "fitzen," meaning "to become tangled," "to cut into tiny pieces, chop," or "to work nervously or feverishly" (def. 1, 2, and 3, Duden) and "Kötter," "owner of a small, wooden hut" (Duden).

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men in their last year of secondary school to sign up for as many years of military service as possible, usually a three-year stint if they want to be admitted to a university after serving. Krumbiegel's success rests on his power to decide their future; he himself is an ignorant bumbler who, displaying inarticulate speech and blind, confused obedience to the socialist ideology, resembles the foolish, lower-level Stasi officials in Helden wie wir. In his bumbling idiocy, Krumbiegel foreshadows Berni's entire chaotic military experience, which Ulbrich dwells on in two of the novel's longest chapters: "VEB Gleichschritt" and "Egon Olsen und der gelbe Zitronenfalter."92 In the chapters where Berger, Krumbiegel, and similar figures appear, Ulbrich implies that it was precisely this type of dogmatic socialist authority figure—whether overbearing like Berger, or ignorant and bumbling like Krumbiegel—who, in misusing power, led directly to rebellion against the system and to the eventual mass protests which brought about the collapse of socialist governments from the Soviet Union to the GDR. Exposing Absurd Socialist Language with Childhood Naivete Playing with words and socialist- or GDR-specific metaphors and similes, Ulbrich demonstrates an awareness of the absurdity of language when used to propagate an ideology. One satirical linguistic technique Ulbrich practices consists in allowing Berni to misapply sophisticated socialist rhetoric to his childhood escapades. After the children's first, decisive encounter with the taste of grilled chicken, the children dub this food item their "Erkennungszeichen und Leitbild" (24), believing themselves to be "Kampfgefährten" in the struggle to build a socialist society and to search for grilled chicken. Like Brussig's Klaus and Biskupek's Mario, Ulbrich's protagonist displays childhood naivete, but also premature awareness of GDR politics and the socialist ideology. As a child he, too, takes socialist slogans literally. Seeing a parade sign with the words „Stahl − Brot − Frieden" on it, Berni decides to eat old bread that has become „stahlhart" as a way to support the peace movement (29). Interpreting literally the GDR catch-phrase that individuals in a socialist society should move _____________ 92

By juxtaposing "VEB" (an acronym for "Volkseigener Betrieb" or "People's Factory") and "Gleichschritt" (marching in time), Ulbrich criticizes the fact that the National People's Army (NVA) aimed to produce cookie-cutter soldiers like a factory assembly line produces goods of identical shape, size, and quality. "Egon Olsen" is the hero in a series of GDR adventure films. Lausi's roommate calls himself "de[n] gelbe[n] Zitronenfalter" because he likes to run around the room with his arms flapping, buzzing like a bee. The young soldier apparently loses his mind in the army.

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"vom Ich zum Wir" in their thoughts and actions, when Berni joins his friends to form the "Kollektiv," he begins to use the plural when referring to himself. The "Ich-Erzähler" thus becomes a "Wir-Erzähler." Taking this narrative shift full circle, after the 1989 revolution Berni returns to telling his tale in the first-person singular. Accepting socialist slogans and propaganda at face value, Klaus, Mario, and Berni expand on these slogans' interpretive possibilities and expose them as often ridiculously simplistic or crudely ideological. Here and throughout the novel Ulbrich calls attention to his own, distanced perspective on Berni's life, in effect causing Berni to undermine his own socialist beliefs and goals by granting him (Berni) an ironic approach to his life and speech that a child cannot possibly have. Ulbrich's language, while generally creative and amusing, is both a strength and a weakness in the novel. In maintaining an overtly satirical tone, Ulbrich, like Brussig and Biskupek, produces a text whose overdetermination may eventually annoy the reader. The Ideology of Consumer Culture If Brussig's Helden wie wir is a repository for perverse acts and German terms for sexual organs,93 and Biskupek's Quotensachse serves as a collection site for the Saxon dialect, Ulbrich's Spur der Broiler may be termed a nostalgic record of GDR consumer culture and GDR-specific political slogans. The tale of Berni's life is a record of consumer product proliferation and the development of fast food culture in East Germany. As a child, he and his friends acquire grilled chicken at a butcher shop via a black market-style exchange.94 As he grows older, this type of chicken becomes more plentiful, being offered not only at butcher shops but also at streetside fast food stands and in restaurants. Finally, after unification, Berni and his three friends seize the opportunity in the newly-installed free market economy to establish their own GDR nostalgia theme restaurant, where they grill and serve "Broiler" themselves to an enthusiastic Eastern German public absorbed by their nostalgia for the "golden days" of the novel's subtitle. Their biographies exemplify how, even in the GDR, where possessions were supposed to exist solely to _____________ 93 94

Helden wie wir supplies a plethora of terms for sexual organs and sexual acts. The long list of terms Klaus uses for his penis alone is grotesque: "Pinsel" (7), "Puller" (54), "Pimmel" (54), "Zipfelchen" (55), "der kleine Trompeter" (101), "Zapfen" (115), etc. Young Berni's friend Lausi trades a packet of West German coffee, found in a care package sent from a distant relative in West Germany, for four "Broiler" at the local butcher shop. Since the butcher had not displayed the chicken openly, the reader can surmise that the man had been holding them in reserve for just such a barter.

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fulfill material needs, the pursuit of these consumer goods took on a greater significance than simply basic need-fulfillment. Eventually this pursuit of goods (and services), because of their general dearth, came to dominate the populace's daily existence. To understand fully how Ulbrich describes the way consumer culture functioned in the GDR, it is helpful to know what GDR government policies regarding consumer products were and how the common citizens reacted to these policies. In the years following unification, a wide range of scholars, popular authors, and humorists have devoted themselves to researching and chronicling these policies and GDR consumer products.95 The most comprehensive work on the subject, however, Utopie und Bedürfnis. Die Geschichte der Konsumkultur in der DDR, was conducted by Ina Merkel. In her study Merkel traces the history of consumer culture in East Germany from the late 1940s to the mid-1990s.96 After extensively researching Socialist Unity Party policy documents, governmental marketing strategies, and consumer behavior, she reaches conclusions which concur largely with the picture Reinhard Ulbrich paints of the GDR. One may thus read his novel as an abstraction or personalization of Merkel's scientific research: Berni's biography confirms her conclusions. _____________ 95

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Scholarly works on GDR consumer culture include Helmut Weiß's Verbraucherpreise in der DDR. Wie stabil waren sie? (Schkeuditz: Gesellschaft für Nachrichtenerfassung und Nachrichtenverbreitung, 1998); Siegfried Wenzel's "Sozialismus gleich Mangelwirtschaft? Ein Beitrag zur Systemauseinandersetzung," Pankower Vorträge 14 (1999): 1-52; and Katrin Böske, et al., Wunderwirtschaft. DDR-Konsumkultur in den 60er Jahren (Köln: Böhlau, 1996). Besides Reinhard Ulbrich's humorous GDR product lexica (see the bibliography), there are also more serious ones like Stefan Sommer's Lexikon des DDR-Alltags. Von 'Altstoffsammler' bis 'Zirkel schreibender Arbeiter' (Berlin: Schwarzkopf & Schwarzkopf, 1999). Merkel rejects defining the GDR as a "Konsumgesellschaft," a "Mangel- oder Versorgungsgesellschaft," or a "Kommando- und Staatswirtschaft." The term "consumer society" is inappropriate because it has been applied to Western, capitalist societies in the past, and it implies that a sovereign consumer has a free choice from a wide assortment of goods, and the other two terms have overly negative connotations. For these reasons she supports the use of the term "consumer culture" in reference to the GDR, because it is the least biased and can encompass all aspects of any society relating to consumption and the consumer. She defines "consumer culture" as: "das widersprüchliche Verhältnis von Konsumpolitik—sowohl als wirtschaftspolitische Strategie wie auch als ideologischer oder kultureller Wertehorizont oder sogar als Erziehungsimpetus gefaßt—und Konsumverhalten—begriffen als individuelle Aneignungsweise, in der der Zusammenhang von sozialer Lage, Tradition und Mentalität aufscheint. Konsumkultur findet ihren unmittelbar sinnlichen Ausdruck in dem Verhältnis, das die Individuen einer Gesellschaft zu der historisch und regional je spezifischen Ansammlung von Gegenständen eingehen, die als Gebrauchswerte/Waren/Konsumgüter auf dem Markt (auch Tausch) erscheinen und ihnen zum Erwerb, Gebrauch und Verbrauch zur Verfügung stehen. Konsumkultur umfaßt die Formen des Erwerbs von Gegenständen ebenso wie ihren praktisch-aneignenden und symbolisch-kommunikativen Gebrauch" (Ina Merkel, Utopie und Bedürfnis: Die Geschichte der Konsumkultur in der DDR, Köln: Böhlau, 1999, 28-29) (bold lettering is Merkel's).

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Merkel sheds light on the socialist theory of consumer culture and its practice. In theory a socialist society should provide for "each according to his needs." The goal of this idea was to eliminate differences between rich and poor, eventually resulting in private property becoming obsolete because it would neither be necessary nor desirable (Merkel 16). Under such conditions, when socioeconomic classes ceased to exist, consumption would disappear as a symbolic practice leading to prestige, a higher social status, or feelings of self-worth. Objects would be reduced to their utilitarian value, their aesthetics conforming to the notion of form following function. People would thus no longer express their cultural differences through the possession or display of these objects, but rather through their individual personalities and creative activities (Merkel 1617). More free time, coupled with a diminished desire for objects that might serve as status symbols or luxury items, and a revaluation of labor as a means to achieve self-actualization, rather than purely to produce goods, should encourage people to develop their personalities and tap into their creative potential. In theory, these Marxist goals may sound convincing, but in attempting to implement them, socialist governments and engaged citizens soon realized they were unachievable. The practical reasons for the failure of these ideas in the GDR are too numerous to elaborate. In a nutshell, the GDR faced difficult economic and structural conditions after World War II (large areas of the country had been destroyed, and the Soviet Union exacted severe reparations). Additionally, the relatively fast nationalization of much of the industry and governmental policies which favored the growth of heavy industries at the expense of consumer goods production in the early years led to an underproduction of nearly all consumer goods for decades (Merkel 33). The "planned economy" in the GDR and other socialist countries also ensured that there would always be excesses of certain products and short supplies of others by pre-programming the production of goods not according to actual needs but rather according to expected ones. Finally, the fact that most East Germans could watch West German television, or had direct contact with the West in the form or friends or relatives there, allowed them to observe the differences between the amount, quality, and appearance of western and eastern consumer goods, which perpetually fueled their desire to have access to the western, "forbidden" goods. One further, related reason for the unachievability of Marxist socioeconomic goals can be derived from the Marxist notion of "commodity fetishism." "Commodity fetishism" is a kind of "surplusvalue" or desire created in a capitalist system, which leads to the continual

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expansion of production and consumption.97 One can, however, also apply Marx's theory to socialist societies, since, as in capitalist ones, consumer products also had "surplus value," which made some products more desirable than others. The fact that often it was those products that were the scarcest which GDR citizens desired the most (for example, bananas and automobiles) led in this case to a vicious cycle of increasing desire accompanied by decreasing availability. Ulbrich illustrates this inverse proportion between demand and supply in his chapter "Begegnung mit dem Wohnraumlenker" ("Encounter with a HousingAllocator"), in which Berni signs up to receive a state-managed apartment, but never actually achieves his goal after years of waiting, because the demand for such apartments greatly exceeds the supply. Eventually Berni solves his housing situation by squatting in the leaky attic of a house full of GDR hippies. Slavoj Žižek elucidates this Marxist idea of "commodity fetishism" thus: In the commodity-form there is definitely more at stake than the commodityform itself, and it was precisely this 'more' which exerted such a fascinating power of attraction. […] In other words, in the structure of the commodity-form it is possible to find the transcendental subject: the commodity-form articulates in advance the anatomy, the skeleton of the Kantian transcendental subject […].98

Žižek here describes how the human subject is influenced by the form which her commodities possess. In Ulbrich's fictional GDR, the citizens' desire for particular products, from non-GDR-specific items such as grilled chicken, to Western ones such as rock record albums or blue jeans, influences the way they think, feel, act, and look. His characters internalize these products so deeply that they become a part of the their identities just as they do in Western societies. Because his characters are fictional and they live in a fictional GDR, Ulbrich can play with the Marxist theory of consumer culture and its malfunctioning there by transforming it into metaphors, exaggerated scenarios, and magical realism. One such metaphor is Ulbrich's connection of his protagonist at birth to a consumer good. Berni reifies himself by likening this birth to the production of a socialist factory product: he speaks of his due date as a "Liefertermin," (7) and of the doctor assisting with his birth as having to read a "Gebrauchsanweisung" (8). With this concrete metaphor, Ulbrich criticizes so-called "socialist" governments who viewed human beings as objects to be molded, instead of as thinking, feeling individuals with diverse needs and desires. One major failing of the socialist system was that its ideologues believed that _____________ 97 98

Karl Marx, Karl Marx: Selected Writings, ed. David McLellan, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000) 442-43. The Sublime Object of Ideology, 7th ed. (London and New York: Verso, 1998, orig. 1989) 16.

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education, combined with coercive tactics, could win over a group of individuals so that they would place society's needs above their own, individual desires. Ulbrich's critique highlights the fact that this type of thinking was based on a misconception of human nature as being malleable and predictable, resembling a machine more than a real human being. Berni's view of himself as a consumer product introduces the novel's central theme of displaying consumer products and demonstrating their impact on GDR citizens, as exemplified by Berni and his friends. Ulbrich specifically targets architectural structures and clothing as commodities posing problems in the GDR. He also grants insight into the experience of growing up in Eastern Germany during the early years, when the country's infrastructure, including houses and schools, had not yet been repaired after the war and clothing styles were based more on what was available than what was fashionable or desirable. Berni's school, for example, is an architectural disaster. His classroom resembles a train station waiting room, and the lamps are a "staatlicher Fliegenfriedhof" (52). He himself is the "[s]chlechtestgekleideter Schulanfänger seit Beginn der Zeitrechnung" (50); his pants' fold is so stiff, it appears to have been ironed by a tank from the Nationalen Volksarmee. But the other children do not look any better: "Wir sahen aus wie der Lumpenball im Deutschen Modeinstitut" (50). The fact that Berni recognizes and openly makes fun of the fact that he and his fellow pupils were badly dressed when they started school shows that he as a narrator (and Ulbrich as the author) targets an audience of people who, because of their currently higher standard of living, can look back at their past experiences or those of their parents and laugh at what at the time, both in East and West Germany in the early 1950s, was still an economically difficult period.99 Ulbrich not only focuses on public institutions and clothing fashions, but he also shows how technological advancements gradually creep into and alter the lives of his protagonists. These experiences, common to both East and West, lend the novel a universal appeal. One significant event which changes Berni’s family life is his father's purchase of one of the first television sets in the 1950s. As is typical for Berni's life experiences, the event becomes truly communal, demonstrating how consumer goods can bring people together. When Mr. Freilich turns on the TV for the first time, all the neighbors gather in Berni's living room and fight about which show to watch (25). The first report they see is the news announcement that the Russian Sputnik spaceship has ascended into outer space and is orbiting the Earth. Ulbrich uses the consumer product of a television set _____________ 99

Whereas U.S. financial support in the form of the Marshall Plan enabled West Germans largely to recover from the war in about a decade, Soviet usurpation of East Germany's natural resources and infrastructure postponed economic and structural recovery there.

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to introduce a historical event of international importance, thus establishing the novel's chronology, and to illustrate the diversity of GDR citizens' reactions to such an event. Most importantly, he uses the television set to construct a humorous causality between consumerism and history. Falling asleep, Onkel Drache mumbles to Lausi's half-blind mother, Mrs. Peschke, who can hear, but not see, the TV screen, that the spaceship is called "Spucknich" ("don't spit") and she is insulted (27). Berni and his friends, duly impressed and identifying with this Soviet space mission, nickname Udo "Sputnik" (28). Ulbrich thus demonstrates here how the television set, as a rapid transmitter and mediator of information, can either fail or succeed as a propaganda instrument. Not only does Ulbrich refer to consumer products as objects according to their various possible functions, but he also supplies their GDR brand names. His chronicling of these brands, as well as political slogans and GDR-specific verbal expressions, reflects his desire to keep them alive, if only in written record. Similar to Matthias Biskupek's highlighting of Saxon dialect words, Ulbrich sets these names and expressions in italics to call attention to them. In these respects Spur der Broiler resembles Ulbrich's ostalgic lexica Kleines Lexikon Grosser Ostprodukte (1996), Sandmännchen im Trabi-Land: Das Ostalgie-Kultbuch (1997), and Grüner Pfeil und Rennpappe: Ein ostdeutsches Fahrtenbuch (1999). Yet, while Ulbrich records details of everyday life in the GDR, he does not glorify the GDR in the process. Like Brussig and Biskupek, Ulbrich capitalizes on the bad and good sides of the socialist system by holding them up to scrutiny and sometimes knocking them down. The satirical edge to his humor prevents these details from appearing too good to be true. In fact, like most authors in this study Ulbrich employs such consumer products and their names to criticize West Germany as well. When Berni hears about the West German tabloid called the "BildZeitung," whose title literally means "picture-paper," he thinks it is for the illiterate. West and East German attempts to contact one another are also laden with irony. Whereas East Germans were encouraged to write letters to West Germans convincing them of socialism's benefits, West Germans benevolently sent the East Germans care packages filled with chocolate, soap, western magazines, or used clothing. West German gestures were as insulting as the East Germans' were futile. These efforts demonstrate a blatant mentality disparity between West Germans, who believe consumer goods will enrich the lives of their destitute and suffering Eastern brothers and sisters, and East Germans, who crave these consumer goods but still cling to their hopes for a socialist utopia that can only succeed if the entire world adopts its tenets.

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Despite constant comical jabs at the GDR, of all the novels under discussion here Ulbrich's appears the most nostalgic because it is the most precise in recording facts about everyday life in the GDR. The type of nostalgia he conjures derives primarily from the details of Berni's childhood and the constant references to consumer products, political slogans, etc., which tap directly into the GDR memories of his Eastern readers. Although he depicts Berni Freilich as an individual character, his experiences represent a more universal GDR experience. And while the novel bears these characteristics, and could even be considered "ostalgic," in an interview Ulbrich protested against the use of the term in reference to Spur der Broiler: Diese ganze Sache mit der Ostalgie, die damals auch schon begrifflich im Raum stand, hat mir insofern Schwierigkeiten gemacht, weil "Ostalgie" schon als Wort auf "Nostalgie" aufbaut, auf der Sehnsucht nach Dingen, die zurückliegen. Das wurde oft an materiellen Verhältnissen in der DDR festgemacht, aber das betrifft mich überhaupt nicht. Ich bin froh, dass ich davon weg bin. Aber ein schlauer Rezensent hat geschrieben, er habe Spur der Broiler gar nicht als Ost-West Buch oder als Ostbuch gelesen, sondern als ein Buch, das sich mit Kindheit und Jugend beschäftigt. Das ist schon wahr. Es findet unter diesen spezifischen Bedingungen natürlich statt, aber ich sehe es eigentlich so, dass die Zeit reif war, mag es "midlife crisis" gewesen sein, oder was auch immer, sich selber nochmal zu erzählen, was man damals erlebt hat. (Appendix 5, 391)

For Ulbrich it is important to distinguish between recalling the past for the sake of remembering it, and recalling it with a nostalgic longing for its return. Despite their occasional nostalgic references, none of the authors in this study expresses a real longing to return to the past.

Conclusions: Why the Picaresque in Post-Wende Narratives? Why, at the end of the twentieth century, after experiencing their country's demise, have so many Eastern German authors turned not just to humor and satire to come to terms with the past and the present, but specifically to the picaresque mode, a narrative style and character typology that originated in sixteenth-century Spain? In seeking an answer, one can point to the picaresque tradition in the GDR: Erwin Strittmatter's Der Wundertäter, Manfred Bieler's Bonifaz oder der Matrose in der Flasche, Irmtraud Morgner's Leben und Abenteuer der Trobadora Beatriz, and several other East German novels tapped into this genre previously.100 A more convincing argument can be made, however, by examining what postwall authors gain _____________ 100 Eric Guillet discusses GDR picaresque novels in Le roman picaresque en RDA (Bonn: Lang, 1997).

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by adopting this genre as a means of reflecting on the GDR as a sociopolitical construct belonging to the past. The most obvious reason for employing the picaresque mode to come to terms with the past is its autobiographical form, which can span decades in a narrator's life, thereby encompassing a large block of human history. Additional reasons include the picaresque protagonist's outsider status and motley encounters with representatives of different socioeconomic classes, which allow him to criticize broad segments of society. The mode's frequent reliance on humor, irony, satire, and the grotesque distortion of reality can be utilized to expose corruption on all levels. A question can be posed here in connection with these functions of the picaresque in regard to socialist societies: How can there be different socioeconomic classes in a supposedly proletarian-led, "classless" society? This answer lies within these novels. Individual and group differences in socialist societies were not determined as much as in the West by money, but rather by political or professional power or by social connections. Movement up or down the social order was achieved within specific power structures like one's place of employment, the SED, the Stasi or the Nationale Volksarmee, or by exiting entirely from them. Thus, although Klaus, Mario, and Berni do not necessarily become materially wealthy in the course of their lives, all three move within the societal structures available to, attractive to, or forced on, them. Describing this type of social movement, specific to socialist countries, and placing this movement within a picaresque framework, are these authors' unique contributions to post-unification literature. They have revitalized the picaresque to fit their narrative and political needs. One picaresque technique that helped these authors relate the past, while finding a perspective from which to judge it, is viewing the "past" from the "present." Their narrators tell their autobiographical tales retrospectively from a postwall vantage point, which includes the more mature, experienced adult perspective. Biskupek, Brussig, and Ulbrich write simultaneously from a child's perspective growing up in the GDR and as an adult looking back on a past life. Because of this stance the end of each novel, reaching forward into the 1990s, pervades these tales from beginning to completion. This technique is ideal for an author who wishes to comment on the past, because it emphasizes the difference between the protagonist's past and present life. It allows a narrator to speak from a position of greater knowledge and awareness, even if this awareness is not coupled with moral or intellectual development. He in effect pops any illusionary bubbles he inflates. Via this strategy, the reader gains greater awareness and insight, and the novel fulfills its didactic purpose. This didacticism resides within each protagonist, even though he himself may

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not be aware of it. These novels also manifest a lightheartedness that would not have been possible if the authors (and their protagonists) had not known from the start the GDR would collapse within their lifetimes. In digging up the past and breathing new life into it, an author relives this past and offers the reader the possibility to relive it as well. The author maintains control over this past, however, by selecting which details she will include and exclude. Constructing means making choices. In choosing the picaresque, these authors seize the freedom to exaggerate or satirize events as they wish. This distortion of the past is expressed in different ways, though, because of the authors' generational, biographical, and experiential differences as well as different worldviews. Although Brussig (b. 1965) belongs to a different generation than Biskupek (b. 1950) and Ulbrich (b. 1953), all three paint, at root, a similar picture of the GDR as a verkehrte Welt, inverted and filled with contradictions. All three narrators' personae also include the dichotomy of victimization and perpetration and the struggle for success in whatever form against a society that (intentionally or unintentionally) blocks or works counter to their goals. In public the narrators all display support for the GDR. At the same time they gradually become aware of, expose, and subvert its failings. Sometimes they strike out at circumstances of which they disapprove, at least to further their own personal gain, but they are all in many ways also victims of this society. All three are forced to participate in difficult activities or institutions, such as military training, which they cannot avoid. By conforming externally but maintaining a unique, internal agenda, they all manage to "escape" or to express disapproval with real existing socialism, however, even if none by any means represents a true GDR Widerstandskämpfer. It is important to note that each author grants his protagonist the ability to express his unique personality, no matter how twisted, neurotic, or morally ambiguous this personality may be. Focusing on these tangibly flawed, individual personalities and describing their experiences with irony, the authors effectively reveal the dichotomies between ideal and reality in the GDR. Despite these similarities, how do the author's concepts of the past, as manifested in each novel, differ? Because he had invested the least time and energy in his country of birth and felt the least attached to it of the three, Brussig's depiction is the most condemnatory. His protagonist Klaus embodies the GDR neuroses which allowed its citizens to adhere, or at least conform, to the socialist ideology for 40 years. In Klaus's case these neuroses force him to act in certain ways in the circumstances he faces. Biskupek's vision, by contrast, is less condemnatory of the GDR in particular because he demonstrates that either societal form—whether it be the socialist GDR or the capitalist FRG—can be manipulated equally

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easily. His motto is that opportunists will survive in any society because of their ability to twist artfully any circumstances to their benefit. He effectively blends GDR history into the larger German historical narrative continuum by focusing on the kingdom/federal state of Saxony and tracing its history from the battle of Mühlberg in 1567 up to the mid1990s. His view of the past is strongly connected to his own regional identity. Ulbrich's staging of the past resembles Biskupek's in that the GDR he depicts is able to be manipulated, despite difficulties encountered in the battle to meet needs and desires. His view differs from Brussig's and Biskupek's in that his protagonist Berni, who remains loyal to East Germany, expresses nostalgia and affection for it despite its failings. Although all three authors' visions of the past differ in form and tone, they still manifest a similar core philosophy. Each asserts that even in the GDR human agency was possible. In fact, according to them, human agency was not only possible, but it also paid off, perhaps not on a national scale, but certainly in achieving local, individual goals. Just as each author's characterization of East Germany differs on the surface but retains a similar core philosophy, so their depiction of socialist ideology differs but bears resemblances. In each work this socialist ideology appears more omnipresent than the capitalist ideology does in post-1945 West German literature or in "capitalist" nations' literature generally. Socialist rhetoric, slogans, and institutions such as the Pioniere or the Nationale Volksarmee dominate the narrators' existence, providing the central, driving force for their daily activities until the GDR's demise. Despite its apparent omnipresence, this ideology seems not to have affected East German citizens the way the GDR government wanted it to. Klaus's and Berni's blind adherence to the ideology as children is so obsessive and unquestioning that their devotion appears farcical. In these particular texts, ironically enough, socialism becomes precisely the kind of "opiate of the masses" which Karl Marx asserted capitalism to be. In Der Quotensachse, by contrast, since Mario never fully believes in any ideology except that of his own, individual good fortune and Saxon ingenuity, socialism as an ideology appears less powerful. It has a strong impact on his daily life, choice of career, and so forth, but not on his inner feelings or belief in his own, individual ability to manipulate real existing socialist circumstances to his benefit. In the end Ulbrich's depiction of the ideology is the most positive of the three. Berni is the only character who eventually internalizes the ideology not as a superficial construct, but rather as the humanitarian, egalitarian utopia Karl Marx intended it to be. The binding element in these fictional versions of the socialist ideology consists in each author's critique of the improper ways the GDR government propagated this ideology and tried to realize its tenets.

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According to these authors (and a majority of East German citizens, as evidenced by the GDR's collapse), the socialist ideology was perverted in the GDR. Instead of serving as a viable force for achieving a true, socialist society, it was distorted to a hollow shell, useful only for pacifying citizens, until they could stand this pacification propaganda no more. By satirizing the Eastern German experience each of these authors in his own, unique way can help the reader understand to what extent and how this ideology influenced the daily lives of Eastern German citizens. These visions of the past are significant in the context of a specifically Eastern German, postwall Vergangenheitsbewältigung because they contradict the Western concept of socialism as a sociopolitical system in which all citizens were effectively repressed and coerced into obedience. The picaresque is a mode that generates and accesses the past of a single individual, albeit a type. By depicting ambiguous, active protagonists, these authors explode the stereotype of the passive, conformist, socialist subject. Brussig, Biskupek, and Ulbrich thus show that, although picaresque novels highlight types, the picaresque genre can also lend itself to breaking down stereotypes. This ability stems from the picaresque hero's position in a world which constantly confronts him with choices. In such a world he can display his human agency on the most basic level: his survival is dependent on making the right decisions at the right times. In using this potential of the picaresque to broaden the outside view of the GDR as a society of victims, these authors contribute to ending the perpetual reification of victimization. A person who has been victimized can only be pitied. A person who acts on his convictions, whether s(he) succeeds or not, can be respected. These novels can thus help outsiders to gain respect for GDR citizens for the freedoms they took for themselves, despite the general restrictiveness of their society.101 This genre's main weakness is that it does not generally allow the author to supply his or her protagonist with much emotional development or depth. As I have emphasized before, however, this avoidance of emotions helps Eastern German authors to steer clear of appearing plaintive or overly nostalgic. Further weaknesses are that the authors' language generally remains static, conveying a perpetually ironic stance toward the characters or their ironic stance toward the GDR. Over the course of such long texts, this consistent, blatant irony may exhaust the reader. Additionally, since each novel is told with a single voice—that of a distorted, or, at the very least, biased—narrator, the reader is treated to a somewhat distorted view of the GDR. _____________ 101 In many respects, these protagonists possess greater agency in the GDR than the narrators in Schlehweins Giraffe and Der Zimmerspringbrunnen do in a "capitalist" society.

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Despite their roles in these novels as citizens within, and commentators on, GDR society, one should not mistake these protagonists with actual GDR citizens. There is a tension in all three narratives between each author's desire to create a character with a plausible biography and his satirical, humorous, and/or nostalgic intentions. On the one hand, the characters, who have names and personalities, exist within their paradoxical worlds, grow up, and "live" just as any GDR citizen may have done. On the other hand, the satire, often becoming grotesque, distorts their lives, pulling them toward the realm of fantasy and science fiction. Despite this distortion, relating their biographies from birth to adulthood encourages reader identification with the protagonists, who in the end win the game of life through cleverness, opportunism, and sheer good luck. Although they learn from their mistakes and mishaps and develop into successful figures, by the end of the novels they have not grown in compassion or become more "moral." They have simply learned to use their talents—verbal, mental, or physical—to achieve success in life. In the case of Klaus and Mario, this success means prestige; for Berni, it means a steady job and the company of friends. Perhaps in the cynical times following the collapse of socialist utopian ideals this is a more appropriate type of Vollendung for these characters and their creators—learning to cope in a capitalist society. In sum, each of these protagonists, deeply embedded in GDR history, assumes a symbolic gravity. Born on a historically significant date and participating in, or affected by, events of national import, they can appeal particularly to an Eastern audience that has lived through these times. People who grew up in the GDR can identify directly with their fictional lives, which reinforce feelings of sharing a past and an identity, helping to define what it means to be Eastern German. In taking on this role, the narratives achieve a universality within the Eastern context, despite—or perhaps because of—the harshness of the authors' satirical critiques. Many Easterners share the same critical stance, coupled with a normal, healthy nostalgia of the type people often feel toward the past as they grow older. All three novels preserve memories of life in the GDR with penetrating hindsight, reflecting diverse attitudes toward the past.

Chapter 3 Regional Identities and Family Feuds Under the Microscope of Ironic Realism Erich Loest's Katerfrühstück and Ingo Schulze's Simple Storys As opposed to many other Eastern German satirists, who rely on hyperbole, the fantastic, or the grotesque modes to tell post-unification tall tales, Erich Loest and Ingo Schulze take a more Realist approach to unification issues in Katerfrühstück (1992) and Simple Storys (1998). Carrying on the Gesellschaftsroman tradition, but avoiding the long-winded descriptive prose of their nineteenth-century forebears, their novels depict a wide range of characters and social milieus. Although Loest, born in 1926, and Schulze, born in 1962, belong to different generations, they share significant biographical features. Both were born and raised in Saxony, worked for several years as journalists, and lived for extended periods of time outside East(ern) Germany, which afforded them the opportunity to observe Western societies from the inside, and the Wende's aftermath from the outside, before writing their novels. Loest lived in West Germany for eight years prior to the fall of the wall, and Schulze spent six months in St. Petersburg, Russia in 1993 and in New York in 1996 before writing Simple Storys. Their insider/outsider multiperspectivity diverges from the firstperson, male-dominated autobiographies treated in Chapters 1 and 2, and displays differentiated views of unification's effects on a panorama of Eastern (in Loest's case also Western) German characters. Although irony can be detected to a greater or lesser degree in many, if not most, fictional and nonfictional post-Wende texts,1 Katerfrühstück and Simple Storys are featured together here because they belong predominately to a more subtle satirical category in which a Realist, sometimes Naturalist, aesthetic _____________ 1

Roswitha Skare examines the use of irony in the essayistic texts Westwärts und nicht vergessen. Vom Unbehagen in der Einheit (1996) by Daniela Dahn, Nicht länger mit dem Gesicht nach Westen. Das neue Selbstbewusstsein der Ostdeutschen (1996) by Hans-J. Misselwitz, and Ostgezeter. Beiträge zur Schimpfkultur (1997) by Thomas Rosenlöcher, in "'Real life within the false one': Manifestations of East German Identity in Post-Reunification Texts," After the GDR: New Perspectives on the Old GDR and the Young Länder, German Monitor 54, ed. Lawrence McFalls and Lothar Probst (Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 2001) 185-205.

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is brought into play to problematize GDR and unification issues. The modes of humor they exhibit, however, dispersed throughout otherwise more "serious" narratives, do still range from subtle mirth to bitter satire, and on occasion to the grotesque. Along with Volker Braun, Kerstin Hensel, and Thomas Brussig, Loest and Schulze belong to the group of better-known Eastern German authors. Loest's many novels (such as Die Mäuse des Dr. Ley [1966/1984], Schattenboxen [1973], Völkerschlachtdenkmal [1984], Zwiebelmuster [1985], and Nikolaikirche [1995]) and autobiographical prose (Es geht seinen Gang oder Mühen in unserer Ebene [1978], Durch die Erde ein Riß. Ein Lebenslauf [1981]) document German history. Focusing particularly but not exclusively on Saxony, they chronicle this history from the Napoleonic Wars to the turn of the twenty-first century.2 Born in Mittweida, Loest became a member of the Jungvolk, a Hitler Youth group, at the age of ten, and was later drafted into the National Socialist army in 1944. After the war, he worked in agriculture and at the Leuna-Werke chemical factory until moving to Leipzig in 1947 to become an intern, and later the editor of the Leipziger Volkszeitung.3 In 1950 he became a freelance author, not only writing short stories and novels, but also articles for the East Berlin satirical magazine Frischer Wind (the precursor to Eulenspiegel). From 1955-6 he studied creative writing at the prestigious Johannes R. Becher Institut, as Rosenlöcher and Hensel later did. In 1957 he became involved with a group of intellectuals including Wolfgang Harich, Walter Janka, Gustav Just, and Gerhard Zwerenz, who called for a more democratic GDR government, and earned himself a seven-and-a-half year prison term for allegedly conspiring to overthrow the GDR government. Restricted to writing Western novels in the vein of Karl May to avoid censorship, Loest left his home country in '81, first moving to Osnabrück, eventually setting up a dual residence in Bonn-Bad Godesberg and Leipzig in December 1989. In the mid-90s his novel Nikolaikirche, which depicts fictionally but realistically the events in Leipzig that led to the 1989 revolution, was made into a TV film that catapaulted him to greater fame. Despite the fact that Nikolaikirche achieved a wide resonance in Germany and also displays the ironic realist mode, Katerfrühstück is analyzed here because it is Loest's first _____________ 2 3

Sabine Brandt discusses each of Loest's novels published from 1950-1996 in Vom Schwarzmarkt nach St. Nikolai: Erich Loest und seine Romane (Leipzig: Linden, 1998). The biographical facts here were taken from the Biographisches Handbuch der SBZ/DDR 1945-1990, vol. 1, ed. Gabriele Baumgartner and Dieter Hebig (München: Saur, 1996) 48788. More information on Loest's biography can be found in his autobiography Durch die Erde ein Riß (Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1981) and in Lebenswege. Friedrich Schorlemmer im Gespräch, vol. 2, ed. Friedrich Schorlemmer (Halle: Mitteldeutscher, 1999) 179-193.

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novel to treat the Wende, and it reflects both Western and Eastern views of the GDR and postwall Germany. Ingo Schulze, born in Dresden, studied German literature and Classical Philology at the University of Jena, later finding a position as dramaturge at the Landestheater in Altenburg shortly before the Wende. In fall 1989 he changed careers and founded the Altenburger Wochenblatt, initially conceived as a local newspaper, then converted for financial reasons to a promotional publication devoted largely to business advertisements. The publication of his first book, 33 Augenblicke des Glücks (1995), based on his Russian experiences, catapulted him to fame, allowing him to become a free-lance writer. Simple Storys, like Helden wie wir, became an instant bestseller when it was published in 1998 and has similarly been hailed as the definitive Wenderoman.4 New Yorker magazine even ran a story in the same year including Schulze among a new group of promising, young European writers.5 The author's recent 752-page tome, Neue Leben (2005), revisits his own GDR biography in the form of an epistolary novel that, although more Realist in style than Brussig’s farcical Helden wie wir, begs comparison with this earlier novel and the others in Chapter 2 because its first-person male narrator resembles theirs. My focus here, however, remains Simple Storys, since it is Schulze’s first novel-length, fictional response to the Wende and its immediate aftereffects. In their novels Loest and Schulze construct family sagas that take place in the postwall period but flashback to the GDR—during the 1950s in Katerfrühstück and the 1970s in Simple Storys—when the central characters committed political crimes or were persecuted by the state. These past events haunt the characters in post-Wende Germany, leading to depression, insanity, and/or death. This older generation contrasts with the younger generation in both texts, the latter of whom display more concern for their careers and interpersonal relationships than for their parents’ high ideals. What distinguishes Loest's and Schulze's works from the others in this study is the greater subtlety with which they characterize both Eastern and, in Loest's case, Western Germans. Their characters' experiences are more mundane and their motivations more quotidian. The literary term "Realism" refers to a mimetic narrative style that "represents _____________ 4 5

Birk Meinhardt, "Der Gitarrist. Menschen, die Berlin bewegen: Ingo Schulze staunt über den Erfolg seiner ostdeutschen 'Simple Storys'," Süddeutsche Zeitung 6 May 1998, 11. Bill Buford and Deborah Treisman, "Best Young Novelists," New Yorker 27 April and 4 May 1998. The featured authors are Ingo Schulze, Marcel Beyer, Marie Darieussecq, Victor Pelevin, Juan Manuel de Prada, and Lawrence Norfolk. See also Christine Cosentino, "Wirres und Wahres in 'einfachen' Geschichten aus der ostdeutschen Provinz: Ingo Schulzes 'Simple Storys' glossen 10 (February 2000) "Bestandsaufnahme: Zur deutschen Literatur nach der Vereinigung" .

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a world of social life in which an individual is capable of acting with autonomous motivation."6 Realist literature satisfies normal rather than intensified perceptions of reality; it provides plausible rather than imaginative explanations. Its style reinforces rather than contradicts what is generally accepted as truthful and relevant. This means a preference for average characters with modest experiences and simple emotions, a renunciation of rhetorical intensity in favor of controlled naturalness, a suppression of metaphorical fancy in the interest of descriptive verisimilitude. (Preminger and Brogan 1016)

Crucial to the original, nineteenth-century theory of Realism is that Realist art should not strive to imitate or copy surface reality as in a photograph, but rather to render this reality artistically and thereby to reveal its essential structure in an aesthetically pleasing and convincing manner. Naturalism, by contrast, which developed as a modern, socially critical literary movement in the late nineteenth century, seeks to imitate reality more closely, emphasizing "the elimination of image-making, rhetorical embellishments, and metaphorical allusiveness in favor of unadorned directness of diction and decription" (Preminger and Brogan 818). Loest and Schulze's ironic critiques emerge from realistic and occasionally naturalistic depictions of their characters' thoughts, speech, and actions. Because both authors pass moral judgment on these characters, whose portraits and inner monologues cannot always be taken at face value, their narratives can be described as ironic. Furthermore, their structure can be considered ironic because its frequent zigzagging between plot strands and the resulting reader confusion contradict their otherwise causally logical, Realist storylines, rendering it Modernist, rather than strictly Realist. On the whole, the novels' intertwined plot threads and respective subgenres function within the wider framework of a type of satire called "ironic realism."7 In these and other ways, Loest and Schulze manipulate the Realist aesthetic to critique Eastern and Western Germans, exposing their difficulties adapting to unification by delving into their particular, regional identities and protracted familial conflicts.

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"Realism," The New Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, ed. Alex Preminger and T. V. F. Brogan (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1993) 1016-1017, 1016. Fritz Martini originally used this term to refer to the writing style of some Realist authors of the nineteenth century. See his article "Ironischer Realismus: Keller, Raabe und Fontane" in Ironie und Dichtung, ed. Albert Schaefer (München: Beck, 1970) 113-143.

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Erich Loest's Katerfrühstück Erich Loest first published Katerfrühstück in his self-made Leipzig publishing house, the Linden-Verlag, in 1992. Although his characters reveal biographical details that reach back to the Second World War, the actual narrative takes place over the course of two months in the summer of 1991.8 The novel's multiple plot strands are complexly intertwined, and thus will be summarized here as background for the analyses that follow. All five strands in some way involve or affect the central character, Wilfried Broeker, who was expelled from the Leipziger Akademie, a fine arts college, for painting "formalist" pictures in the 1950s.9 Instead of fighting the system and facing further persecution, Broeker defects to Meckenbach10 in the Rheinland, marries a wealthy heiress, and achieves success at her side as a tile manufacturer. The most significant plot strand concerns the relationship between Wilfried and his brother, Heinz. Conflicts arise when the Wende brings Wilfried together again with Heinz, who, after succumbing to political pressure to denounce Wilfried for having defected to the West, was permitted to join the Socialist Unity Party and become a choir director in the GDR. Unification leaves Heinz unemployed and directionless. Both men are, for different reasons, bitter and nostalgic about their own pasts and critical of each other's. Until 1989, the two men are separated from each other physically, by the presence of the strictly guarded GDR border, and ideologically. Wilfried embraces capitalism after moving from Leipzig to Meckenbach, believing himself to be the winner in the East-West brotherly competition: "Er wurde sechzig und war gesund, und Heinz war in die Knie gegangen" (171). Heinz meanwhile remains a staunch socialist until the border is removed. "Auch wir hatten Werte," he thinks to himself now, defending his former convictions (180). As Wilfried, spurred to action by unification, now travels to and from Leipzig promoting business interests, Heinz wallows in self-pity over the loss of his country, his ideals, and his job: "es war schon deprimierend, fand Ostbroeker dann _____________ 8

9

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In the first chapter Theres Broeker, the daughter of the Western side of the Broeker family, is introduced as being in her seventh month of pregnancy. In the final chapter she gives birth to a daughter. Loest later writes: "der Absturz der DDR lag anderthalb Jahre zurück" (109). Another historical date that anchors the novel is the Bundestag's decision to move the capital from Bonn to Berlin on June 20, 1991, which Loest refers to frequently. In the 1950s the GDR government proclaimed its adherence to socialist realist tenets and condemned all "formalism" in the arts. From this perspective "formalist" art is art which reflects the artist's greater interest in the aesthetic form the artwork takes than in the political or ideological message it conveys. The fictional name "Meckenbach" is a contraction of the names of two actual small towns located in the Rhineland: Meckenheim and Rheinbach.

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doch, wie sie ihn nach der Wende von einem Tag auf den anderen gefeuert hatten. Als ob er einer der Schlimmsten gewesen wäre" (109-110). Their confrontations reveal irreconcilable dichotomies that delve to the heart of the problematic pre- and post-1989 West-East conflict. Further plot strands include: 1) Wilfried's search for a production and storage facility in Saxony for his tile company, so his business can expand to the East and he can strengthen his ties to his former home near Leipzig; 2) Wilfried's ongoing feud with Hans Dreikötter, an equally prominent member of Meckenbach society who owns a huge fruit and vegetable import company, because Dreikötter had used one of Wilfried's paintings for target practice in his basement shooting-gallery three decades earlier; 3) the gradually developing, platonic relationship between Hans Dreikötter's son, Claus-Peter, and Wilfried's daughter, Theres, despite the family feud; and 4) Wilfried's son-in-law Martin's entanglement in immoral and criminal activities, ranging from cheating on his wife (Wilfried's daughter Theres), to conspiring with a Meckenbach city council member to siphon tax funds from the state of North Rhine-Westfalia using Wilfried's tile company receipts. Switching back and forth between these plot strands, Loest presents multiple perspectives on postwall Western and Eastern German mentalities and lifestyles. Unlike authors who employ a single, first-person narrator, allowing for depth at the expense of breadth, by weaving together multiple plot strands and alternating between first- and third-person narration Loest grants the reader access to the experiences and innermost thoughts of a variety of individuals. Within these five plot strands, Loest combines characteristics of four distinct literary genres: the social drama, the romantic comedy, the crime story, and the Realist novel. His fictional family's story resembles a social drama and, like Brussig, Loest uses the microcosm of family interactions as a metonymous institutional unit to represent German society as a whole. Using omniscient portraits of the Broekers' extended family, Loest comments on a wide range of reactions to unification. The Broeker family feud with the Dreikötters also appears to be a romantic comedy inversion of Shakespeare's tragedy Romeo and Juliet. Loest compares the BroekerDreikötter feud to the Capulet-Montague conflict by having Hans Dreikötter's son, Claus-Peter, reflect on his feelings for Theres and connect his own biography to this tragic drama: Hab' mich nie an Theres rangetraut, hab' sie angegafft mit ihren langen Klassebeinen und kühlen Augen, war für mich eine andere Welt, wann war ich denn schon mal im Theater. In einem Theaterstück von Shakespeare, wie hieß das gleich, liebten sich zwei, aber alles ging schief, denn die Alten hatten mächtigen Rochus aufeinander. (158)

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Claus-Peter represents the younger generation of Western German men who are business-savvy but appallingly ignorant of high culture. Instead of ending the novel with the dual suicide of the two young lovers whose parents despise each other, however, Loest allows Claus-Peter to bring about a reconcilation between the two patriarchs. Since nearly all conflicts are resolved by the novel's end, and Claus-Peter and Theres find each other despite their families' enmity, it is tempting to call the novel a romantic comedy. In this case, the genre of romantic comedy, in providing the novel with a "happy end," hints at a potential reconciliation at least for some participants in the West-East conflict. Even though Claus-Peter and Theres both belong to the Western German side of this conflict, it is their families' mutual interest in doing business in Eastern Germany which serves as the catalyst for resolving their dispute. This positive plot development indicates that the reverberatory effects of unification can be far-reaching and beneficial. The third codified genre Loest adapts is the crime story.11 Wilfried and his wife Marion's pursuit of the (to them unknown) perpetrator of the municipal tax scam mimics a crime-story plot. Since Loest reveals Martin's and his partner, Heckert's, criminal activities to the reader in the first chapter, but not to the other characters in the novel, the crime story engages an ironic structure. This structure allows Loest to reveal the "true nature" of the Rhinelanders as "scam artists" who frequently engage in white-collar crimes to pad their incomes: "Wir [Rheinländer] würden alles absolut korrekt machen, bloß eben schneller. So günstig wie möglich natürlich," asserts Heckert (107).12 Exposing these Rhinelanders as criminals, Loest uncovers their hypocrisy (and that of Western Germans in general) in condemning the Eastern Germans for their supposed and real criminal activities in the GDR.13 Taken as a whole, these plot threads and their respective subgenres function within the wider generic framework of the Realist novel. As he expressed in his autobiography Durch die Erde ein Riss, Loest views himself _____________ 11

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Using the pseudonym "Hans Walldorf," Loest wrote detective novels in the GDR after being released from prison in 1964 in order to support his family until they were permitted to move to West Germany in 1981 (Schorlemmer, Lebenswege 183). See Sabine Brandt Vom Schwarzmarkt nach St. Nikolai 186-187 for a list of Loest's adventure and detective stories. In this scene and others the Western characters, including Marion, discuss possibilities for committing further white-collar "crimes," including tax evasion and nepotism. Marion is not above lying to get what she wants: "Eine Lüge zur Aufklärung dunkler Machenschaften, es gab Schlimmeres" (143). Hans Dreikötter offers his son the Eastern branch of his fruit and vegetable import business "[a]uch der Steuern wegen" (210). These Western criminal accusations about Eastern Germans were generally directed toward the GDR government, SED party functionaries, and the Stasi and its members, but there is also Western prejudice against all Easterners for having tolerated for 40 years a system which they, as outsiders from the West, consider repressive.

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both as an author and as a "Chronist"—a chronicler of history. This chronicle-like approach bleeds into his fictional writings, leading him to create realistic narratives and characters. He generally avoids extreme narrative techniques,14 constructing Realist novels in the tradition of Fontane (Schach von Wuthenow 1882, or Irrungen Wirrungen 1888), Thomas Mann (Buddenbrooks 1901), or Hans Fallada, whose "Kleinbürgerromane" strongly influenced him.15 The irony in his text, as in Fontane's, Mann's, and Fallada's, arises from multiple sources, all of which are intimately tied to his text's post-Wende context. Whereas Brussig, Biskupek, and the other authors discussed here tend to apply a heavy hand when delivering satirical critiques, Loest's irony remains on a more subdued plane. His narrative style effectively captures the banality of everyday existence, and his straightforward language and short, choppy sentences emphasize the concrete meanings of words. Thus, the irony in his text often arises from the narrative's sociohistorical context rather than from his language use. More than in most other postwall satires, Katerfrühstück renounces linguistic playfulness, relying on a Realist aesthetic to convey irony. How does Loest create this contextual irony, what is his purpose in using it, and what does it reveal about West-East German relations? Like Rosenlöcher in the Harzreise, Sparschuh in Der Zimmerspringbrunnen, and Biskupek in Der Quotensachse, Loest constructs an ironic image of both Western and Eastern Germany by comparing their disparate cultures. He invites this comparison by placing his characters in situations where they must interact with the people, culture, and landscapes of the respective "other" Germany. These "other" Germanies, however, are represented specifically by the Rhineland in the West, and Saxony in the East. Although many of Loest's ironic jabs are directed specifically toward the mentality, behavior, and speech of the Rhinelanders and the Saxons, many may also apply to each half of the country in its entirety. Incongruities and several surprising similarities between these two groups lead to humorous and ironic results. Another significant literary technique Loest frequently applies to critique his characters' thoughts and actions is naturalism, which captures his characters' thoughts and experiences with astonishing precision. Loest compiles details of daily life that generally pass unnoticed to entertain the reader, but also to grant access to generally concealed aspects of his _____________ 14 15

Although there are fewer grotesque and scatological scenes in Loest's novel than in the others, he, too, does not completely exclude them. I discuss these scenes and their implications later in this chapter. See Günter Albrecht, et. al., Meyers Taschenlexikon: Schriftsteller der DDR (Leipzig: VEB Bibliographisches Institut, 1975) 356, and Kindlers Neues Literaturlexikon, vol. 10, ed. Walter Jens (München: Kindler, 1990) 534.

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characters' personalities. Often readers interpret his naturalistic narration to be satire, whether he intends it to be or not.16 At a reading I attended in Bonn in October 1999, Loest stated that a naturalistic depiction of a person, circumstance, or event often appears satirically exaggerated, even though the author does not intend to exaggerate. He believes that exaggeration is not necessary to expose people or societal structures as corrupt or unjust. One reviewer of his novel Gute Genossen (1999) noticed this characteristic about his writing style, remarking: "Loest schreibt naturalistisch genau. So wirkt die DDR aus dem Abstand heraus komisch und manches ironisiert sich von selbst."17 In fact, naturalistic descriptions belong to the arsenal of weapons satirists traditionally use to criticize individuals and/or societal structures. Bringing previously unnoticed details of human existence out in the open may result in shock, annoyance, amusement, or some other, perhaps unpredictable reaction. No matter how accurate a person, circumstance, or event is described, such a verbal description mediates and thus abstracts it, contributing to the Verfremdung it may provoke in the reader or listener. In any case, as Brecht theorized, Verfremdung can lead the reader to re-evaluate or re-think circumstances he or she had previously taken for granted. This distancing or objectification plays an integral role in the production and consumption of satire, and most of the other authors in this study occasionally resort to a similar naturalism in their works. In the following I examine Loest's ironic and occasionally satirical stance toward his protagonists and their interactions as Western and Eastern Germans and as Rhinelanders and Saxons. His irony emerges most noticeably from the way he develops his characters psychologically. The conflicts between the two brothers Wilfried and Heinz highlight negative aspects of each society to which they belong and pay homage. Finally, the few but powerful scatological and grotesque scenes included in the text do not liberate the characters, as is often the case in the narratives discussed in Chapters 2 and 3, but inculpate them instead. Because Loest focuses almost equally on Western and Eastern German perspectives, a more complete picture of the West-East problematic emerges than in _____________ 16

17

At a public reading in Bonn in 1999, Loest said, for instance, that newspaper reviewers had called Gute Genossen a satire, even though he had not intended it to be. In a review of the novel in Berliner LeseZeichen 9 (1999), Horst Wagner writes: "Hier triumphiert der Satiriker, wird Realität bis ins Groteske verfremdet, schlägt kritische Rückschau in Diffamierung um. Ist es das, warum Loest seiner Erzählung die Unterzeile 'naturtrüb' gab?" . Sonja Bonin calls his writing style in the novel "parodistische Übertreibung" ("Und wehe, hier will einer fliehen," Der Tagesspiegel, 20 June 1999 ). Udo Scheer, "Alltag in einem untergegangenem Land," Die Zeichen der Zeit. Lutherische Monatshefte 8 (1999): 46.

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most other post-1989 satirical texts. More extreme satirical points of view tend to distort people and circumstances in ways which do not accommodate such precise observations as Loest's. Opposites Don't Always Attract: Western Self vs. Eastern Other Katerfrühstück differs from most Eastern German satires by starting from the Western German perspective, postponing the introduction of Eastern German characters until the third chapter. As Loest's characterization of Western Germans is not flattering—they appear overly-critical, selfcentered, and, in Martin's and Heckert's case, criminal—the reader is prepared for their negative reactions to their Eastern relatives who, in the year-and-a-half since the fall of the wall, still have not quite adapted to the new, Western lifestyle. As Heinz Broeker puts it: "Ist eine andere Welt bei euch" (180). Beginning with the Western point of view, Loest emphasizes the fact that this cultural "colonization" moved from West to East, and not vice versa. Loest's depiction of the Western Self as the active partner, and the Eastern Other as re-active thus accurately mirrors actual German circumstances in the early 1990s, exposing them as the collective result of individual, selfish desires and actions. In accordance with his Realist narrative style, Loest takes a differentiated approach to his Western figures by supplying them with diverse biographies, socialization, and worldviews. Only by depicting complex biographies and psyches can he fulfill his goal of providing plausible explanations for the way Western Germans treat Eastern Germans, and vice versa, in the early 1990s. As reports of Eastern German perpetual dissatisfaction with unification's results show, these conflicts continued into the twenty-first century.18 The central Western representatives in the novel are Wilfried Broeker and his wife, Marion. Whereas Marion was born the privileged daughter of a well-established Meckenbach tile manufacturer ("Das Schiff 'Kaiser-Keramik', gegründet 1862, zog seinen Kurs" [45]), Wilfried's family, originally from Silesia, Poland, became destitute when, because of their German ethnic background, they were forced to emigrate to Germany following World War II. As stated above, Wilfried later left the GDR because he believed it to be too restrictive. _____________ 18

See Renate Köcher, "Schatten über Deutschland. Ostdeutschland glaubt nicht an die eigene Zukunft," Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 15 August 2001, 5, or Detlef Pollack, "Vollendung der deutschen Einheit: Kognitive Aspekte," Veröffentlichungen der Bundestagsfraktion der SPD, 2001, 28 January 2002 .

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Loest characterizes the former East, now West, German Wilfried as arrogant and preoccupied with material well-being. He perceives his relationship to his brother as a competition in which he, the financially and ideologically successful Westerner, must emerge the victor: "Noch nie [vor der Wende] hatte Broeker begriffen, wie wichtig es für ihn war, daß sein Bruder in die Knie ging. Vor dreißig Jahren hatte dieser Kampf begonnen" (89). Despite his attachment to capitalism, vestiges of his poverty-stricken childhood and sensitivity to workers' rights developed during his GDR years continually rise to the surface, motivating him occasionally to be unnecessarily frugal, yet to treat his factory workers well.19 However, his intolerance toward his brother and indulgence in regular brothel visits contrast with his conscientiousness in the above areas. Loest's complex ironic approach to characters like Wilfried is demonstrated in the following third-person stream-of-consciousness passage, which displays marked shifts in tone from sarcastic to ironic, to serious and to comical: Clevere Hunde hatten denen [den Ostdeutschen] alle Nappalederjacken angedreht, die hier keiner mehr gewollt hatte. In denen liefen sie nun rum, breitärschig. Standen rum, guckten. Tranken Westbier. In einem Jahr hatten die Ostmenschen für fünfzig Milliarden Westware gekauft, Schund und Rostautos waren dabei und jede Menge Bananen. Sie waren um fünfzig Milliarden ärmer geworden, das war beinahe die Hälfte vom umgetauschten Geld. Wenn er mit seinen Kacheln aus Schmanneberg den verkorksten Geschmack von denen traf, war er in zwei Jahren von allen Krediten runter. Und weißte noch, würde er Heinz hinreiben, wie du vor zehn Jahren geweissagt hast: Läuft alles gesetzmäßig, der Kapitalismus geht den Bach runter, wenn auch ein bißchen langsamer, als wir uns das vorgestellt haben. Und das Brüderchen hatte ihn ins Lager sperren wollen, wenn dieser Drechsler nicht gesponnen hatte. Allem alten Quark sollte er nun doch nicht nachgehen, aber das Ding interessierte ihn schon. Dieser Gedanke kam ihm kurz vor dem Einschlafen: So viele Frauen mit dicken Hintern wie in Sachsen hatte er noch nirgends gesehen. (51)

In the first four sentences Loest seems to use Wilfried as a mouthpiece for his own thoughts about unification's detrimental effects on Eastern Germans and the Western German exploitation of Easterners as a market for their excess, outdated goods like nappa leather jackets (popular in the West in the 1980s) and rusty cars. The narrative perspective he applies, called in German erlebte Rede, was invented by the nineteenth-century French Realist author Gustave Flaubert to allow an author entry into a character's thoughts while maintaining a consistent third-person voice. The author's tone here is sarcastic and cynical: Eastern Germans are _____________ 19

For example, he secretly packs a lunch for himself at the breakfast buffet of his Berlin hotel so he need not buy lunch later and considers stealing one of the hotel's elegant coathangers to compensate for the high hotel rates (127).

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criticized for being ignorant of Western fashions and marketing strategies and for blindly consuming all Western products, regardless of quality or the fact that such products as high quality beer also exist in the East. Assertions like these are meant to be read both literally and ironically. As literal statements, they accurately hone in on some Western German thoughts regarding the East. As ironic critiques they undermine the Western German image of themselves as benefactors in Eastern Germany and official government propaganda campaigns which promised, among other things, that "blühende Landschaften" would flourish in Eastern Germany in the wake of unification. One linguistic clue that points toward the quote coming directly from the author here is the fact that he does not use the third-person pronoun "er" in these sentences. In the same paragraph, however, Loest suddenly shifts the voice to Wilfried as the same type of Westerner he had just criticized, who plots to sell kitschy tiles to unsuspecting Eastern German customers. Although Wilfried, like Loest, recognizes the piranha-like Western German consumer attack on the East as being harmful to the Eastern German economy, and Wilfried, like the author, grew up in Saxony, in the end Wilfried cannot step back from his Western German role and leave the Eastern Germans to buy Eastern-produced tiles. Reducing his own credit debt (i.e., a private, selfish concern) in the end interests him more than the economic fate of Eastern Germans. These two voices, with which Loest develops Wilfried's character, produce an irony that leads the reader to condemn Wilfried as a selfish, "capitalist" businessman. As the paragraph continues, with Wilfried planning his next interaction with his brother, Loest develops a further negative side of Wilfried's personality. Shifting to seriousness, even pathos, Loest shows the reader Wilfried's true feelings toward his brother, Heinz, and sets up the novel's central conflict: Wilfried resents Heinz for having plotted to put him in an internment camp, and wishes to exact revenge on his brother for having believed socialism would eventually overcome capitalism. Wilfried yearns to prove to Heinz, once and for all, that the socialist ideology is and always was defective. These two thoughts, of selling tiles and of competing with his brother, betray Wilfried's true, selfish nature. Ending this passage with Wilfried's wonderment at the broad posteriors of Saxon women abruptly unravels the previous paragraph's seriousness. The existential issues Loest has had Wilfried reflect about are undermined, along with Wilfried's character, by shifting the man's thoughts to the physical, trivial, and "lowly" topic of his obsession with women's bodies. Shifting narrative tone and content in this way, Loest skillfully and economically achieves several goals. He sets up and elucidates the novel's central conflicts (Western vs. Eastern Germany,

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Wilfried vs. Heinz), while developing Wilfried's ambiguous personality and playfully undermining his character. Without coming across as plaintive, he also condemns Western treatment of Eastern Germany, along with Eastern German lack of common sense and bad taste. Depicting Wilfried's wife Marion with similar detail, Loest uses irony to criticize her personality and attitudes heavily. On the positive side, she is a strong woman ("kraftstrotzend" [13]) who ambitiously pursues her business interests and fiercely protects her own, nuclear family. "Rechthaberisch" (20), and intolerant, though, she cannot sympathize with the plight of her Eastern relatives, preferring to lead a comfortable, conservative life free of their presence. Viewing Heinz and his wife Isolde as annoyingly naïve and whiny losers ("Ich hab' auch 'nen Sack voller Sorgen. Ich setz' mich doch auch nicht hin und jammere!" [202]), her thoughts are dominated by tactical plots to free her immediate family from any influence they might exercise. One powerfully satirical passage in which Loest characterizes and condemns Marion takes the form of a mock Christian petition, alluding to the Lord's Prayer, which she recites to herself while kneeling in a Catholic church near Meckenbach: Worum sie bitten wollte, wußte sie noch nicht genau, als sie das Knie gebeugt und sich gesetzt hatte. Um Gnade, um Kraft. Daß alles gut gehen möge mit Theres und dem Kind. Man sollte Gott nicht mit Kleinkram behelligen, nicht mit der Heckert-Affäre beispielsweise oder mit dem windigen Martin und seinen Geschäften. [...] Sie sollte bitten, daß Wilfried Kraft für seine Malerei fand und von allen Versuchungen verschont blieb, die von drüben kamen, von diesem Schrotthaufen in Schmanneberg [der alten DDR-Fabrik nähe Leipzig, die Wilfried kaufen wollte] und dem Förster Schwümm [dem opportunistischen Bruder von Isolde]. Daran hatte sie selten gedacht, allenfalls, wenn sie drüben gewesen war: Heidenbande; selbst ihren miesen kleinen evangelischen Glauben hatten sie fortgeworfen. Herr, erbarme dich unser. Ihrer auch, wenngleich in anderem Sinne. Die mußten erst wieder zu Gott finden. [...] Und schütze uns vor Versuchung, da drüben mitzumischen bei Dingen, die uns fremd sind, kommunistisch und heidnisch und widerwärtig. Und laß die aus dem Osten nicht dominieren in unserer Familie. Laß uns ihnen gute Gastgeber sein, daß es ihnen an nichts mangele, solange sie hier sind, aber dann sollen sie sich wieder fortmachen, denn ihr Reich ist nicht unser Reich und nicht Gottes Reich. (139140)

Ironically, Marion's religious beliefs have led her to be judgmental, instead of tolerant or loving, as Christianity teaches. Her complexity is disclosed in Loest's word selection and the structure of her "prayer." Instead of the religiously connoted verb "beten," meaning "to pray," Loest uses the secular verb "bitten um," "to ask for," to describe Marion's activity in the church. And while at first her petitions seem innocent enough, her prejudices against her Eastern relatives are exposed with the terms

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"heidnisch" and "widerwärtig." Loest uses irony here to express disapproval of Western German greed, hypocrisy, and arrogance. Adding depth to this portrait of Western Germany Loest invents further significant Western characters. All can be divided into groups according to their professional success or failure and backgrounds. There are winners, such as Wilfried, Marion, Hans, and Claus-Peter, and losers, such as Martin and Heckert. Loest makes a further, important distinction between Rhinelanders and non-Rhinelanders. No matter how successful Wilfried may be and despite his marriage to "das rheinische Urgestein" Marion (165), since he was not born in the Rhineland, the people in Meckenbach forever view him as an outsider: "In mir steckt immer noch Argwohn, daß Ihr Mann unsere rheinische Art nicht so ganz nachfühlen kann," says Heckert to Marion, in an unsuccessful attempt to appeal to her regional pride and thus convince her to act independently of her husband and participate in his tax scam (107). The closed, innocular, and provincial nature of small-town Western Germany parallels the closed society in the GDR. The only exception to these clear-cut divisions is Theres, who is both winner and loser—having a successful career as a costume designer for the theater, bearing a healthy child at the novel's conclusion, and attracting the attention of Claus-Peter, but living in isolation during her pregnancy and losing her husband, Martin. She unites East and West both in her heredity and as the only Western German who can somewhat understand and get along with the Eastern German side of the family on an interpersonal level: "Für Theres war jeder Besucher aus dem Osten psychologisch begreifbar" (75). Along with Claus-Peter, who resolves the Dreikötter-Broeker family feud, she functions as a conciliatory figure in the novel. Except for Claus-Peter and Theres, in this novel all Western Germans not only appear selfish, but also elitist, decadent, and materialistic, the women being no better than the men. They give in to nearly any pleasures they desire, simply because they can afford them, and criticize everything (and anyone) that does not live up to their high standards of taste and quality. Martin, for example, is a gourmand who "trank niemals Rose und verabscheute Fisch, dessen zarte Fasern von Frost malträtiert worden waren" (16). Marion, who does not realize that her elitist tastes conflict with her devout, Catholic faith, detests fast food stands (8), and looks down on Isolde for serving only pretzel sticks in the evening when she comes to visit (196).20 Wilfried not only luxuriates in the attentions of _____________ 20

A further irony of Marion's character is that she, who leads a comfortable bourgeois life, contradicts herself by complaining to Wilfried that Isolde and Heinz have expensive tastes and desire goods that she and Wilfried would not buy: "Bisher konnte ja alles gar nicht teuer genug sein. Spitzenkaffee und Markenjeans—hast du denn so was getragen? [...] Die

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prostitutes, but he also likes them to drink champagne with him and to remember to call him by his first name (27). Loest describes amusingly Wilfried's reason for stopping at a brothel called "Bahama Beach," each time he returns alone to Meckenbach from Leipzig, as a pleasurable form of exorcism: "An das mittelalterliche Zeremoniell der Teufelsaustreibung hatte er dabei gedacht, er ließ Erinnerungen an Zollerklärung, TrabiGestank und Schlaglöcher, an 'Ham mer nich, sonst gerne' aus sich herausstreicheln" (27). In a telling analogy, Loest has Wilfried perceive Western German rural brothels as the ultimate contrast to the stuffiness, dirt, and discomforts in the GDR: "Es gab keinen größeren Gegensatz zur DDR als einen straff geleiteten, überschaubaren, nicht überkandidelten bundesdeutschen ländlichen Puff" (27). With this analogy, Loest portrays Wilfried ambiguously but also affectionately as a self-indulgent hedonist with a colorful imagination. The humor in having Wilfried contrast the GDR with a Western German brothel arises from the surprising accuracy of the comparison. One of the greatest ironies in the novel is the fact that the Westerners despise the Easterners' complaints about high prices and unemployment in the East, yet the Westerners themselves complain about everything in Eastern Germany: the bad food and service at restaurants, the run-down condition of houses and factories, the hideous socialist realist architecture. They even complain about the Eastern Germans' plaintiveness, referring to them as "Zoni-Krähen" (136) who "jammern" (150, 202). The many small details Loest supplies about these characters' tastes and habits contribute to the novel's irony because of their remarkable precision and frequent repetition. As Beda Alleman writes: "[d]ie ironische Anspielung ist auf Präzision angewiesen, sie kann nicht ins Vage und Nebelhafte gehen, aber auch nicht auf das allzunahe vor den Augen Stehende."21 According to Wolfgang Preisendanz, when an author provides details about human experiences which historical or media accounts neglect, the reader may interpret his or her text as comical.22 Within this ironic framework, such details reveal the darker sides of his characters' personalities, marking them as objects of satirical critique. In comparison to these Western Germans, the Eastern Germans Heinz and Isolde come across as awkward, displaced, depressed, and defeated. They need to "make up for lost time" by familiarizing themselves with the Western way of life and the abundance of consumer _____________ 21 22

bekommen doch ganz falsche Begriffe!" (25). Lacking compassion, she cannot understand Wilfried's (superficially) more generous attitude toward his brother and sister-in-law. "Aufriß des ironischen Spielraums," Ironie als literarisches Phänomen, ed. Hans-Egon Hass and Gustav-Adolph Mohrlüder (Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1973) 39-46, 42. "Zum Vorrang des Komischen," Das Komische, ed. Wolfgang Preisendanz and Rainer Warning (München: Fink, 1976) 153-164, 162-164.

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products now available ("Seine [Wilfrieds] Schwägerin mußte Eindrücke abarbeiten, Theres nannte das so" [75]). Isolde's brother, Förster Schwümm, by contrast, typifies the opportunistic, cynical Eastern German ("Wenn es einen Wendehals in der Familie gab, dann war es Norbert Schwümm" [182]), who "swims" with the tide as his name suggests. Unlike Heinz and Isolde, Schwümm is capable of adapting his behavior to Western standards, commanding the respect of the entire Western German clan by remaining optimistic after losing his job and refraining from complaining about his circumstances. In fact, as soon as he learns of the critical Western attitude toward plaintive Eastern Germans, Schwümm concludes: "So fühlt ein Wessi; wenn ich das begriffen habe, halte ich meinen Arsch wieder halbwegs über Wasser" (150). He demonstrates a selfish initiative in the capitalist struggle for survival that is generally associated with a Western mentality in the novel. In Loest's ironic account of Western and Eastern German confrontations, the Westerners nearly always view themselves as superior, leaving the Easterners to assume the inferior role. Even the proactive effort Easterners expend to adapt to their changing world is shown in the end to be a reaction to circumstances dominated by a Western influence. Loest shows in this way how larger West-East conflicts influence the Broeker family microcosm, which, in turn, alludes to the macrocosmic nature of these broader Western and Eastern German tensions. Regional Mentalities and Dialects as Sources of Satire Contributing to the difficulties the "Westbroeker" and the "Ostbroeker" families have in respecting each other are not only divergent Western and Eastern German customs and mentalities, but also regional differences between the Rhinelanders and the Saxons. The characters' "West-" or "Eastgermanness" is closely tied to the geographic region they call home.23 Having lived for years in Saxony and the Rhineland, Loest is intimately familiar with both German regions, which grants him insight into the mentalities and customs particular to each.24 Occasionally, he also inserts Rhenish and Saxon dialect into his text, adding local color and subjecting _____________ 23

24

Since Northrhine-Westfalia is the most populous federal state in Western Germany and Saxony is the most populous state in the East, Loest targets a large cross-section of each formerly independent German nation in directing his satire against the Rhinelanders and the Saxons. Northrhine-Westfalia is also located on the far west side of Western Germany, while Saxony lies on the far east side of the East. In fact, the Literatur-Rat Nordrhein-Westfalen e.V. claims Loest as a Northrhine-Westfalian author, listing him in its Literatur-Atlas NRW: Ein Adreßbuch zur Literaturszene, ed. Ludwig Janssen (Köln: Volksblatt, 1992) 486.

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specific regional customs or practices to satirical scrutiny. As in Biskupek's Quotensachse, the contrast between Loest's High German narration and the dialect he places in his characters' mouths can have a humorous effect. In depicting these regional characteristics, Loest's narrative switches from a more straightforward ironic realism to the satirical mode. As Matthias Biskupek and others have demonstrated in their humorous Saxon portraits (some authors' date back as far as the 17th century), Saxon stereotypes have a long tradition. The voiced consonants and unrounded vowels of their dialect, which often sound amusing to outsiders, and their notorious, stereotypical talkativeness and naivéte can easily be rendered in dialogue form, as Loest does in part 2 of chapter 3 when Isolde visits Wilfried and Marion in Meckenbach. It being Isolde's first trip to the West, she understandably is excited about the consumer products she sees there. Loest mocks this excitement by transcribing her verbal exclamations orthographically: "Diiie Debbsche! Ihr gloobt das nisch, die Debbsche!" (75). At first she appears to be a distorted caricature of a Saxon/East German, fulfilling the aforementioned stereotypes other Germans have of them. Yet, in this confrontation Loest does not confine his satirical critiques to the Saxon Isolde, but also shifts them to the Rhinelander Marion, whose extreme negative reaction to Isolde is deemed reproachable. Convinced of her cultural and intellectual superiority, Marion calculates her behavior, alternating between consciously aimed verbal barbs, tuning out Isolde's (to her) annoying chatter, and politely arranging time-out sessions in the kitchen: Sie blieb länger in der Küche, als notwendig war, das gehörte zu ihrer Strategie: Möglichst wenig hinhören. Dazwischenfragen: Stimmt es, daß du früher mal Luftgewehr geschossen hast, bei euch in der Behörde richtig ausgebildet worden bist? Da war Isolde Broeker ins Stammeln gekommen. (75)

The satirical critique here, as in Heinz and Wilfried's conflict, emerges from the contrast between Isolde, the naïve, babbling Saxon and Marion, the arrogant Rhinelander. Loest highlights this contrast by narrating both women's inner thoughts and behavior in detail. Such contrasts mirror the stereotypes Easterners and Westerners have of each other and repeatedly crop up in the satirical literature and other types of texts published throughout the 1990s decade and beyond. Loest, along with Rosenlöcher and Schirmer, is one of the first authors to have exposed and manipulated these stereotypes within a fictional framework.25 Occasionally Loest's comprehensive biographical portraiture appears to be at odds with his satirical intentions, revealing his sympathy toward _____________ 25

Two other novels from the early 1990s that treat the differences between Easterners and Westerners are Günter Gaus's Wendewut (Hamburg: Hofmann und Campe, 1990) and Helga Königsdorf's Gleich neben Afrika (Berlin: Rowohlt, 1992).

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characters such as Theres, Claus-Peter, and Isolde, for whom he commands respect. The more he reveals about Isolde's biography, in particular, the more understandable her reactions to unification become. Giving her a voice in part 1 of chapter 7, Loest discloses her to be neither the silly goose for which Marion takes her, nor the reason for the GDR's demise, of which Heinz accuses her ("An solchen wie Isolde war die DDR zugrunde gegangen" [177]). She is rather a perceptive, emotionally complex individual who realizes that the GDR system was inefficient and corrupt, but whose efforts to combat this inefficiency and corruption from within had been crushed. While working at a government agency that oversaw the distribution of socialist-produced automobiles in the Leipzig district, she not only valiantly defended the automobile requests of rural residents against the demands of the "Leipzig-Mafia" (188), but she also wrote a report predicting that the waiting period for a new car would grow to 18-21 years by the year 2010, for which she was reprimanded by her superiors (190). Loest depicts her as a tragic figure, an underdog who realized the flaws and futility of the socialist system and who took initiative to promote improvement, but whose efforts failed. After unification Isolde can also recognize the irony in the expression: "Es kann doch nicht alles falsch gewesen sein! Das gehört doch zu unserer Identität!" (191). After the fall of the Berlin Wall Eastern Germans often justified their support for the repressive GDR regime with this phrase, but she realizes that it is merely a crutch used to bolster their injured selfesteem.26 Because she senses that Marion will not and cannot comprehend her past and present experiences, Isolde refrains completely from speaking of her own biography and consciously assumes the role of the poor, deprived Eastern German who enthusiastically embraces Western consumer products. Laying bare Isolde's otherwise hidden biography, Loest reveals her apparent simple-mindedness and outward assumption of the Saxon stereotype to be a self-protective façade. As Heinz and Isolde are not just any Eastern Germans, but specifically Saxon Eastern Germans, Marion Broeker, Martin Keffbauner, the Dreikötters, and councilman Heckert are not just any Western Germans, but rather, proud Rhinelanders. In highlighting specific, regional differences between the Saxons and the Rhinelanders, Loest's irony most closely resembles satire when condemning the customs and attitudes of the Rhinelanders. Loest evokes satire in this case with detailed descriptions of the Rhenish "lust for life," hypocrisy, and typical ways of conducting business, called in the local dialect "Klüngel," meaning "using _____________ 26

Appearing frequently in postwall satires, this phrase accompanies fictional depictions of Eastern German reactions to unification like a litany. See also Brussig's Helden wie wir 26 and Biskupek's Der Quotensachse 136.

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one's connections" or "I'll scratch your back, if you scratch mine." He exposes the Rhineland as superficially friendly and funloving, but never truly accepting of outsiders. In chapter 3, part 1, Martin Keffbauner reflects on this Rhenish closed-mindedness: "Da konnte [Wilfried] Broeker noch so angestrengt in den [rheinischen] Dialekt-Singsang rutschen—ein sächsischer Rest blieb immer; und wenn er schunkelte, daß er fast aus der Bank fiel: Er blieb der Mann, der aus dem Land der Schlaglöcher und Schlagstöcke gekommen war" (67). The picture Loest paints of the Rhineland is narrow-minded, provincial, decadent, and corrupt. The ultimate irony in this image is that, except for the decadence, this is precisely the view Loest's Rhinelanders have of Eastern Germans in general, and Saxons in particular. Bruderkrieg: Aesthetic Ideals vs. Hard Realities in West and East With their differences appearing insurmountable, the only apparent binding factor between the two Broeker families is their talent for and love of the arts. This affinity becomes the object of irony, however, when Loest compares the way each Broeker brother expresses it. The most obvious source of irony here is the contrast between Wilfried and Heinz's mentalities, worldviews, and language use. Somewhere between or beyond the two men's divergent perspectives, Loest implies, lies an ambiguous ideal. Here, irony "invokes notions of hierarchy and subordination, judgment and […] moral superiority."27 Both Wilfried and Heinz see themselves as culturally and morally superior, but Loest proves each brother's perspective to be false. As the Broeker brother conflict evolves, it takes on a unique, new form, illuminating the differences between the two societies in which they live(d), as each brother comes to symbolize the Western and Eastern halves of Germany and the respective, reprehensible cultural values attached to each. Alluding to a frequently-recurring motif in German literature, most poignantly expressed by Goethe in Die Leiden des Jungen Werther and Thomas Mann in Tonio Kröger, Loest revisits the age-old conflict between the individual's desire to pursue artistic dreams and the need to eke out a middle-class existence according to society's rules. Wilfried, who had studied painting at the prestigious Leipziger Akademie and still envisions returning to pure, artistic creation, was reduced to painting animal portraits to make a living after defecting to the _____________ 27

Hutcheon 17. Hutcheon quotes Lori Chamberlain, "Bombs and Other Exciting Devices: Or, The Problem of Teaching Irony," from Reclaiming Pedagogy: The Rhetoric of the Classroom, ed. Patricia Donahue and Ellen Quandahl (Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois UP, 1989) 97-112, 98.

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West and has spent the past thirty years designing tile motifs, in other words, working on trivial, mass-produced graphic designs. Loest demonstrates how Wilfried's conformity to capitalist, consumer market demands has undermined his artistic talent and dreams. Now, he mainly dreams of selling decorative tiles. While visiting his favorite brothel, Wilfried muses: die Dekorfliesen für die nördliche DDR, für Berlin vor allem, sollten einen bräunlichen Ton haben, oder lila, oder sepia, er müßte sich im Schloß von Charlottenburg nach einem Farbton umsehen, den die Königliche Manufaktur von Berlin bevorzugt hatte. Gebrannte Siena? Für Botschafterklos und Hotels, Ministerbäder und Snob-Appartements brauchte er eine Luxusausführung mit Blattgoldauftrag und einem hübsch verlogenen Namen: "Schinkel-Braun." (176)

Not only the contrast between Wilfried's artistic aspirations and his actual occupation appears ironic here, but also his invocation of the nineteenthcentury architect and painter Karl Friedrich Schinkel (1781-1841), a "high art" representative, comes across as incongruous in the context of Wilfried's marketing strategy for something as mundane as bathroom tiles. Loest further trivializes Wilfried's artistic aspirations by having the other characters refer to him as a "Kunschtmaler" (72), a linguistic variation on the word "Kunstmaler," meaning "artistic painter," which contrasts with the "Hausmaler," or professional house painter. Here, the word "Kunschtmaler" serves as a term of endearment that nevertheless degrades Wilfried by mocking his view of himself as a true artist. Heinz, by contrast, was able to indulge his artistic aptitude by becoming a choir director in the GDR, as long as he conformed to socialist party demands and performed songs steeped in socialist ideology and anti-imperialist propaganda. The individual nature of painting as a form of artistic expression also contrasts with the collectivity of Heinz's choir directing. The irony in the brothers' biographies emerges from the dichotomy between each man's real situation, as viewed from the outside, and his perception of this reality. Each sees himself as the more fortunate of the two: Wilfried for having achieved material success and enjoyed the freedoms money can buy in a free market society, and Heinz for having been able to pursue his artistic dreams in the GDR, which, since he embraced the socialist ideology, he did not perceive to be greatly inhibited by the requirement that he direct his choir in singing pro-socialist songs.28 _____________ 28

Interestingly, only Theres (who, as stated above, unites East and West) possesses the ability to unite her artistic talents with capitalism: her profession as a costume designer allows her to earn a living by expressing her creativity. Even though she does not necessarily see her work in this light—"sie hielt sich doch manchmal für nichts anderes als eine hochgescheite Handwerkerin" (32)—she remarks that her father "glücklich war, in ihr eine Künstlerin sehen zu können und gar keine Zweifel aufkommen ließ, daß sie eine wäre" (32).

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Heinz expresses his opinion of Wilfried with the following statement: "Wilfried hat angesetzt und angesetzt, und woran er gescheitert ist, bleibt letztlich egal. Durchbruch mit sechzig? Gibt sich wohl mit seinen Kacheln zufrieden. Redet, macht Wind" (177). Heinz now spends his days reminiscing about the songs he had composed in the GDR that were rejected by the Ministry of Culture for supposedly imparting a "kleinbürgerliche Pseudozufriedenheit" (178). The central tragedy of Heinz's existence lies in his absolute rejection of his brother for embodying capitalist values and of his wife Isolde for her lack of assertiveness ("Was war doch Isolde für eine Pflaume" [177]) and her new obsession with consumer goods ("Isolde würde er ihr Quelle-Gequatsche verbieten" [180]).29 In the realm of the arts, as in no other area, the brothers can stand shoulder to shoulder as equals in their perception of the value of their biographies; yet, trapped in their prejudices, they fail to realize this fact. With Wilfried and Heinz's conflict, Loest satirizes both Western and Eastern concepts of art—neither of which embodies the romantic, artistic ideal. The brothers' conflict is heightened by Loest's having the enthusiastic capitalist Wilfried fail to convince his brother, Heinz, that all aspects of Western society are better than what the East had to offer. Loest writes: "An irgendeinem Punkt im Westen brach jeder Ossi zusammen, davon war [Wilfried] Broeker überzeugt" (89). After Wilfried fails to break Heinz down by enticing him with fine food and wine, Loest has him plot to himself: "Ich bring' dich schon noch aus deiner verfluchten Arschruhe […]. Und wenn ich mit dir blitzkurz nach London fliegen muß, beim Frühstück hinknalle: Wie wär's denn mit 'nem indischen Essen heute mittag mit Blick auf die Themse?" (99). Heinz immediately responds to Wilfried's thoughts as if Wilfried had spoken them: "In Bulgarchn" […] "hab'ch mich fast an Rotwein gewöhnt. Aber zu Hause trink'ch ähmd Bier" (99). Here, Loest's irony produces humor through the contrast between Wilfried's calculated plotting and Heinz's overtly naïve, homey attitude, enhanced by the Saxon dialect. The gulf between the two brothers proves to be insurmountable because their competitiveness perpetually leads to estrangement. Wilfried not only wants Heinz to admit that his political beliefs were faulty, but also that he is guilty of plotting to take over the West and even betraying his own brother to further his political career. At the Socialist Unity Party school Heinz attended, he was given the task of planning the takeover of a West German factory in a village near Düsseldorf. When asked during his thesis defense what measures he would take against his Western brother _____________ 29

"Quelle" is a large German mail-order catalogue company.

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should such a takeover succeed, Heinz responded that he would have Wilfried sent to an internment camp for reeducation. Wilfried later learns of Heinz's plan from a party member who was present during Heinz's grilling: "Wenn es umgedreht gekommen wäre, die Bundesrepublik wäre zusammengebrochen und die Roten wären hilfreich eingezogen, dann hätten sie natürlich Internierungslager eingerichtet. Heinz hätte damals dafür plädiert, daß ich als Republikflüchtling hinter Stacheldraht gekommen wäre. Mal sehen, ob er sich erinnert" (28). It is Heinz's guilt, and Wilfried's suspicion of this guilt, which hangs over their relationship and, since the issue is never discussed openly, eventually leads to their estrangement. Contributing to this estrangement, Heinz, in an act which occurs partly through his own absent-mindedness, partly due to his unconscious desire to end his now meaningless life, falls from an embankment while visiting the factory he had plotted to usurp and injures himself severely. His retreat back to Leipzig to recover from this fall symbolizes his final defeat. At this point, all possibilities for reconciliation between the two brothers evaporate. In a linguistic touché marking the end of their competition, Loest has Wilfried believe Heinz to be a beaten man and refer to himself as the penultimate "Sieger der Geschichte" (171). Because GDR ideologues had used this slogan to project their belief in the inevitable world victory of socialism, Wilfried's use of the expression to refer to the final victory of capitalism and to his (albeit microcosmic) participation in this victory by "defeating" his socialist brother, undermines both the socialist ideologues' former folly and arrogance as well as Wilfried's. His presumed victory rings hollow since he applies it to his position in a failed family relationship, characterized by his inability to reach out to his own brother. Loest's final word on the relationship between the Broeker family members is that West and East are incompatible because of their too disparate biographies: while the Western half assumes the superior role of victor, the Eastern side's unresolved guilt issues generally prohibit the development of healthy relations. In his fictional Germany Loest validates an egalitarian principle by asserting that neither of the two postwar German systems is ideal, despite the ideologies each system propagates: absolute freedom to pursue personal goals in the West, and social/financial security in the East, which should have led to a similar type of freedom. With the characters Wilfried and Heinz Broeker he expresses a truism common to both societies: in the West financial concerns often get in the way of this type of freedom and self-actualization, while the overbearing socialist ideology in the East restricted the forms creative expression could take there. The reasons Loest supplies for the communication block in West-East relations serve

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as an explanation for why this block persists, but also as a warning for both sides to work harder to end their differences. Both sides of Germany must try harder to get along by being open to biographical and ideological differences, learning to accept these differences, and realizing that neither side was or is perfect. Guns, Violence, and Bodily Functions: Less Funny Uses for the Grotesque and Scatology One exception to Loest's general avoidance of the grotesque and scatology is his pairing of them with acts of violence in three separate, but related episodes, all involving Hans Dreikötter. In the last months of the Second World War Dreikötter Senior became a child hero by destroying two American tanks as they encroached on Meckenbach. Reflecting on Dreikötter's past in connection with the incident that sparked their feud, Wilfried Broeker recalls having read somewhere that on the battlefield in close combat soldiers often defecated in their pants when the enemy was on them (230-31).30 Uncontrollable defecation also plays a role in the Dreikötter-Broeker feud, which began when Hans bought Wilfried's painting of an elephant and used it for target practice in his basement shooting gallery. Insulted by this desecration, Wilfried confronts Hans in this basement with a loaded rifle, forcing the man to stand in front of the painting while he shoots at him. Both men defecate in their pants out of excitement and fear: "Denn das wußten nur der alte Dreikötter und er, daß sie, nachdem die Schüsse gefallen waren, sich angestarrt und begriffen hatten: auch der andere hat sich gerade in die Hosen geschissen. Nicht bildlich gemeint, sondern wirklich und wahrhaftig vor Schreck und Aufregung" (230). Since he had aimed more to scare Hans than to kill him, Wilfried only serves a short prison term, but the two men despise and avoid each other for thirty years thereafter. Finally, in the most grotesque scene of all, Dreikötter urinates in his pants while shooting wild boars in a hunting massacre Förster Schwümm stages for a group of Western German hobby hunters in his former forest preserve in Saxony. Five hunters pay Schwümm for the chance to line up on a dock and shoot at a herd of wild boars and deer that Schwümm's cohorts chase toward a pond from which the animals have almost no possibility to escape. A tour de force of grotesque symbolism, the wild boars and deer, which Loest implies represent the Eastern Germans, are mercilessly shot and killed by _____________ 30

Loest's inclusion of this detail can perhaps be traced back to his own experiences as a soldier in World War II.

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the Western German marksmen: "sie wollten augenscheinlich kein Wild ausbrechen lassen, entgegen Schwümms Mahnung zur Fairneß" (207). With these interconnected events, all of which involve guns, violence, and uncontrollable bodily functions, Loest condemns violent acts directed toward people and animals, while undermining past and present-day concepts of heroism, manliness, and sportsmanship. On the most basic level, his brutal hunting scene targets Western German treatment of Eastern Germans following the Wende, which reduces aggressive Westerners to "hunters" and unassertive Easterners to "prey," or helpless victims. With this scene and other plot strands that involve West-East business or interpersonal relations, he implies that Westerners do not and did not give Easterners a fair chance to deal with the Wende's unexpected negative effects. Instead of approaching their relations as a meeting of equals, the Westerners proceeded to bulldoze the Easterners, without regard for their emotions and past or present experiences, or even for the most basic rules of fair play. Looking deeper into Loest's condemnation of the specific, violent acts in the novel, one can also see that he degrades aggressive activities such as fighting in battle or hunting in general by revealing their true, destructive nature, along with the humiliating mental and physical effects they have on the agents. A turning point in the novel comes when Dreikötter Senior, who received a medal of honor for his "war heroism," and calls it "Männersache" that neither he nor Broeker ever told anyone about what really happened in his basement (208), realizes that shooting at the helpless wild animals in the pond is an act of pure brutality: "'Bis zum nächsten Mal' sagte Schwümm, und Hans war sich sicher, daß es ein nächstes Mal nicht geben würde" (209).31 In a moment of epiphany that leads to the resolution of at least one of the novel's main conflicts, Dreikötter Junior, Claus-Peter, promotes a reconciliation with the Broeker family by having his father present the deer he killed to Wilfried at his sixtieth birthday party. This conciliatory idea, born out of a senseless act of killing, reflects Loest's ambivalent attitude toward unification's effects as they are played out on an individual level. Analyzing the novel's conclusion pessimistically, it is possible to argue that if the deer's dead carcass represents weak, unassertive Eastern Germans as victims, the only way West and East can eventually unite will literally be "over the Eastern Germans' dead body," with this body being a kind of sacrificial lamb or dead body politic offered up to the long-awaited and desired altar of unification. A more optimistic analysis might, by contrast, point out that _____________ 31

That Wilfried also values "manly men" can be seen in his admiration for the manly French actor Jean Gabin, as well as the German politicians Kulenkampff and Willy Brandt. Wilfried concludes: "Ein Mann war ein Mann" (49).

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unification can lead to reconciliation. In other words, after the Western German "cultural massacre" of the East is complete, possibilities for reconciliation will present themselves, if only those involved have the power to seize them. One must not forget, however, that the Eastern German opportunist, Förster Schwümm, organized the hunt, indicating that not only Westerners are to blame for the Eastern German "massacre," but that opportunists like Schwümm, by betraying their own kind, are also guilty of aiding and abetting this cultural takeover. In the bitterly critical and grotesque symbolism of these scenes, which is directed against this Western takeover, Eastern German opportunists and the masculine ideals that motivate both sides' actions connect Loest closely to the other authors examined here. In stark contrast to the alienation and brutality that Wilfried and Hans have experienced, and by which they have occasionally been motivated, in the younger generation Loest grants the reader a glimpse of "new world" understanding. Wilfried's daughter Theres and Hans's son Claus-Peter are the novel's two most conciliatory and likeable figures, since they possess the ability to bridge differences between the other characters. They also do not adhere to the older generation's stereotypes. As mentioned above, Theres possesses the ability to understand her uncle Heinz, and ClausPeter describes himself as: "vorurteilsfrei und von Natur her seelisch gepolstert" (151). Strangely enough, Loest grants them physical attributes which make their conciliatory natures appear at least partly biologically determined: both Theres and Claus-Peter lack a strong sex drive. Even though both are young and physically attractive, Theres having once been a champion tennis player and Claus-Peter "ein Brocken von gut einsneunzig und gewiß zwei Zentnern" (70) with "Fernandelzähnen" (71), neither is particularly interested in pursuing sexual relationships. Theres is by nature not interested in having sexual relations, not even with her own husband: Martin gegenüber war sie immer abweisender geworden, sie war überzeugt, daß er sie für frigid hielt [...]. Sie hatte sich nichts aus Jungen gemacht, damals, als unter ihren Freundinnen von nichts anderem die Rede gewesen war. […] Jungfrau war sie noch mit neunzehn nach dem Abitur gewesen. Es hätte, wenn es nach ihr gegangen wäre, noch eine Weile so bleiben können. (57)

Her pregnancy and birth experience—to which Loest devotes an undue amount of attention, since it does not directly relate to the central, WestEast problematic—had neither been planned nor welcomed.32 This birth, which could represent generational renewal or hope for the future, is _____________ 32

Loest takes eight pages to describe Theres's birth experience at the hospital (214-221).

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symbolically compromised by her estrangement from her husband and the fact that the child is an accident. Claus-Peter's reduced sex drive has a specific, medical source: his underdeveloped testicles reduce his body's supply of sexual hormones and render him infertile (211). On the one hand, this shared attribute of a low sex drive indicates that Claus-Peter and Theres are most likely compatible. On the other hand, associating a conciliatory nature with asexuality suggests that Loest takes a deterministic, biological approach to human relations: those human beings with "manly" attributes, including a strong sex drive, such as Wilfried, Hans Dreikötter, and Förster Schwümm,33 are bound to act aggressively and initiate conflict, while those with lower hormone levels such as Theres and Claus-Peter possess a natural ability to behave more civilly. A low sex drive is also a sign of impotence; from the original four parents of Theres and Claus-Peter the sole Broeker-Dreikötter survivor will be Theres's daughter, Rebekah, whose existence is based on an accident rather than on Theres's innate fecundity or maternal desire. This topos ties Katerfrühstück to broader German issues like the low birth rate and aging population, which began to provoke an ongoing crisis in the retirement and health care systems in the late twentieth century. A Hangover Breakfast to Follow the Euphoria Unlike other authors who adopt satire to critique unification's effects, Loest provides concrete solutions to East-West conflicts. Sometimes he has his characters articulate these solutions in their thoughts; at other times their behavior represents a potential for reconciliation or acceptance of the Other. By the end of the novel Wilfried and Hans resolve their differences, and Marion accepts Isolde into the family fold.34 The only truly negative effects of unification on the Broeker family are condensed in the figure of Heinz, whose guilt over having betrayed his brother, combined with the loss of his career and ideals, weighs too heavily on him to allow him to adapt to the new circumstances: "Alles vorbei, beschloß Heinz Broeker. So befreite er die Seelen der toten Lieder nicht. War das _____________ 33

34

Wilfried's frequent bordello visits and fantasies about Saxon women are evidence of his strong sex drive. Wilfried describes Hans Dreikötter as the type of man who "gewann immer" (86); and Förster Schwümm, "der flotte Hirsch mit seinen Pflanzweibern im Gebüsch" (138), has a sexual affair with his neighbor's wife: "Hin und wieder hat Norbert sie vernascht. Im Wald und auf der Heide" (137). When the caterer is late delivering the hors d'oeuvres to the Broeker house for Wilfried's sixtieth birthday party and Isolde saves the day with the "Leipziger Lerchen" cookies she has baked, Marion finally acknowledges her as a contributing member of the family: "Isoldchen, das vergesse ich dir nie!" (236).

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schon verrückt, sich diese Seelen vorstellen zu wollen? Als ganz dünne Nebel—wenn er so weitermachte, endete er in der Klapsmühle" (182). Instead of attempting to fight the battle of assimilation to capitalism, Heinz grimly accepts his defeat. Through Heinz, Loest not only critiques the capitalist system as superficial, exclusionary, and alienating, but also some Eastern Germans' stubbornness and inability to embrace the changed circumstances with a positive attitude. A "Katerfrühstück" is the breakfast one eats in the morning after an alcoholic binge to reduce the effects of the hangover. There is one scene only in the novel where such a breakfast is actually served. After an evening in which Claus-Peter and Martin got drunk with Förster Schwümm attempting to negotiate a land purchase, the following morning the two Westerners devour with gusto Schwümm's "Katerfrühstück" of pickled trout with onions (152). In the larger context of German unification, Loest insinuates that just such a hangover breakfast is necessary for Western and Eastern Germans after the initial intoxication and euphoria of the opening of the wall have worn off, in order to come to terms with the event's negative repercussions. As Wilfried muses on a solo trip to the former GDR border: "Hier waren sie in diesem wahnwitzigen Herbst 1989 mit Sektflaschen von beiden Seiten aufeinander losgestürmt. Lange vorbei, die Zeit, fast nicht mehr nachfühlbar. Jetzt war nüchterner Morgen" (171). Loest insists with his ironic realist approach that both sides will need such a "Katerfrühstück" to make it through the rough years ahead.

Ingo Schulze's Simple Storys The literary realism in Simple Storys, like in Loest's novels, can be traced to Ingo Schulze's experiences as a journalist ("das Beobachten, Registrieren, Bilanzieren—prägte ihn auch literarisch"), and from the younger author's desire to follow in the footsteps of American short story and/or naturalist writers like Raymond Carver, William Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, and Sherwood Anderson.35 Schulze's brand of realism differs from Loest's, however, in that his style is much terser and his more numerous characters and plots, encapsulated within "short stories" constituting chapters that mesh to form a novel, are less tightly connected. Whereas Loest's novel has been virtually ignored by readers and critics, Schulze's has received a plethora of responses, most highly positive, but others _____________ 35

Cosentino, "Wirres" .

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attacking Simple Storys for being too complicated. Calling the novel an "ästhetisches Amalgam," Ingo Arend describes Schulze's short story technique as "ein Fall nachgeholter Modernisierung" —a late homage to the Modern style of writing.36 And Manfred Durzak finds it noteworthy but disadvantageous that Schulze breaks radically from Socialist Realist writing conventions with "eine[r] hochkomplizierte[n] Erzählweise, die historische Zusammenhänge wie in einem literarischen Bilderrätsel verschlüsselt und sich in ihren formalen Ansätzen genau zu den literarischen Vorbildern bekennt, die in der DDR vorher gebrandmarkt waren, nämlich der amerikanische Short Story."37 Arend and Durzak slight the novel for being too complicated, but in better understanding Schulze's wide-reaching ironic agendas, the reader will gain respect for these sophisticated narrative strategies. In an interview with Thomas Geiger, Schulze described his reading and writing approach thus: Mich interessierte schon immer Literatur, die das Außen und das Innen gleichberechtigt wichtig nimmt. [...] Mich interessiert wie Abläufe funktionieren, welche Strategien sich ergeben und daß man die Sache eben an ihrer Praktik 38 erkennt und sich nicht in Ursache und Wirkung verstrickt.

Schulze puts this philosophy into practice in Simple Storys by focusing on the immediate situations in which his characters find themselves and thereby avoiding detailed explorations into the psychological motivations for their thoughts and actions as Loest does. This seeming lack of psychological depth forces the reader to speculate about these motivations, and in so doing leads to the uncovering of covert and unstable ironies. In The Rhetoric of Irony Wayne Booth distinguishes between covert, overt, unstable, and stable irony. Covert irony, as opposed to the overt variety, is "intended to be reconstructed with meanings different from those on the surface, not merely overt statements that 'It is ironic that…' or direct assertions that 'things' are or 'the universe' is ironic" (Booth 6). Unstable irony is not restricted to a single, concrete interpretation as in the case of stable irony, but can rather provoke multiple interpretations (Booth 245-247). Like the other novels here, Simple Storys reveals valuable insights into a wide range of postwall Eastern German experiences and mentalities. _____________ 36 37 38

"Gesinnung. Literatur nach der Wende. Kein Ende der Gesinnungsästhetik," Freitag 40, 29 September 2000 . "Ingo Schulze und Michael Kampfmüller und der Roman der deutschen Wende," Der 'gesamtdeutsche' Roman seit der Wiedervereinigung, ed. Hans-Jörg Knobloch and Helmut Koopmann (Tübingen: Stauffenburg, 2003) 145-158, 148. "Wie eine Geschichte im Kopf entsteht," Sprache im technischen Zeitalter 37.149 (1999): 108123, 114.

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Moreover, since unstable irony is rarer and often more highly valued than the stable kind, Schulze's adoption of it is one likely reason his novel is the second most widely read Eastern German satire after Helden wie wir. Switching back and forth between characters and plot strands like Loest, communicating many levels and types of irony, Schulze grants the reader access to an uncommonly wide panorama of Eastern German society, though much less of the West than Loest does in Katerfrühstück. The 29 loosely connected stories numbered like chapters in Simple Storys: Ein Roman aus der ostdeutschen Provinz, focus on the inner thoughts and interactions of over 30 characters from the small Thuringian town of Altenburg. Each chapter jumps from one set of two to five characters to the next, tracing their interlocking biographies forward from February 1990 to winter 1998. Each chapter also bears a separate title and a long subtitle in the Baroque manner of Hans Jakob Christoffel Grimmelshausen's picaresque novel Der Abentheuerliche Simplicius Simplicissimus Teutsch, introducing what takes place in the everyday lives of his small-town protagonists. Damals hat Grimmelshausen den großen europäischen Krieg im Lieben und im Leiden der kleinen Leute dargestellt, und genau das will auch der Autor von 'Simple Storys'. Die Politik und die gesellschaftlichen Umwälzungen sieht man zuerst im Alltag, und das wirkt manchmal bei aller Tragik sehr komisch.39

All but four chapters are narrated in the first person, which encourages the reader to empathize with each narrator, despite the fact that there are so many, and each is only granted a few pages of text. The generally serious narrative tone also draws the reader in, rather than distancing her like Brussig's Klaus Uhltzscht. Ernst and Renate Meurer and Dieter and Marianne Schubert are the novel's four patriarchs, who entered into a tragic GDR-style family feud in 1978 when the SED hardliner Ernst, in his role as school director, had Dieter, a schoolteacher, fired for not punishing a pupil who wrote "Ex oriente Bolschewismus" ("out of the East comes Bolshevism"—a pejorative term for Soviet socialism) on his notebook (222-3). In struggling throughout the 1990s to deal with their conflicted pasts and the loss of their professions (for political reasons Ernst resigns as school director in the fall of 1989), Ernst eventually becomes mentally ill and is committed to a mental institution, and Dieter dies of a heart attack. The Meurer sons, Martin and Pit, and the Schuberts' daughter, Conni, also struggle with unfulfilling love relationships and unemployment, while their friends and neighbors battle isolation, depression, alcoholism, and Neonazi violence. What distinguishes Schulze's work from most other _____________ 39

Hans H. Pöpsel, "Alltags-Splitter der Wendezeit," Westfälische Rundschau 8 April 1998.

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postwall satires is the subtlety with which he portrays these characters. Although most are typical in one way or another, they are more undecipherable than those other authors have created. Their motivations are not always clear, and the information Schulze provides about their biographies is sketchy, forcing the reader to draw her own conclusions about these motivations. By no means does Schulze unconditionally condone or promote his characters' frequently aberrant behavior, however. His ironic critiques simply do not emerge as often from hyperbole or the grotesque, but rather from their opposite poles: understatement, reductionism, and realism. Such narrative paucity has led some readers, including me at first, to miss entirely the many types and levels of irony that can be found in the text.40 While the ironist's attitude toward his subject often transmits a didactic message, in the case of Simple Storys, the author's irony alternates between condemnation and sympathy for his characters, but it is rarely as blatant as that of the other satirists treated here. In an early positive critique of the novel in Die Zeit, Ulrich Greiner asserted: Die wahre Kunst [...] dieses verwirrend vielköpfigen, geschichtenüberquellenden Romans besteht in der völligen Abwesenheit pädagogischer Ziele. [...] Bei Ingo Schulze wird nichts bewiesen, aber alles gezeigt. Und wie bei Raymond Carver zum Beispiel kommt die Pointe der Storys vollkommen beiläufig, manchmal fehlt sie ganz.41

Taken as a whole Simple Storys represents what Wayne Booth has called an "ironic portrait." In this type of text, the reconstruction of messages or content seems to be for the sake of revising and completing a picture of the speaker or of an action in which he is involved. The act of reconstruction is not completed in a proposition or set of propositions but in a dramatic picture. It follows from the dramatic quality of such works that the speaker does not usually address the reader directly […], but is shown addressing other characters or speaking or thinking to himself. (Booth, Rhetoric 137)

Such works are "literary," "poetic," "imaginative," or "creative," as opposed to "rhetorical," "discursive," or "didactic" (Booth, Rhetoric 137). In Simple Storys Schulze reconstructs the period in Eastern German history from 1990 to 1998 in order to capture the difficult, dramatic changes Eastern Germans experienced without making them or their experiences appear maudlin or trite. Depicting these dramatic changes exposes incongruities between life in the GDR and in unified Germany, often _____________ 40 41

Manfred Durzak criticizes the novel for being too complicated and for alluding in an improper manner to Carver and Hemingway ("Ingo Schulze" 145-158). "Menschen wie Tauben im Gras. Ostdeutsch: Ingo Schulze schildert die Generation, die den Sozialismus überstanden hat," Die Zeit 26 March 1998, Literatur 2.

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producing devastating results. By the end of the novel it is too late for the characters' experiences to serve as didactic guides for their fellow citizens; these characters have all either learned from unification and moved on to new careers and new relationships, or have ended up as alcoholics, mentally ill, or dead. The aesthetic advantage of Schulze's subtler, less prescriptive writing strategy is that he keeps the reader speculating about his characters' fates until the very end of the novel and beyond, encouraging active reader participation. When reading Simple Storys the reader experiences puzzlement at the missing pieces Schulze omits in adhering to a minimalist writing style, but this puzzlement is more intellectually demanding than that which Brussig produces, for example, with his gushing descriptions of Klaus Uhltzscht's bizarre perversions, which also make the reader wonder, but for different reasons, about Klaus's motivations. Although there are many sources of irony in Simple Storys, here I focus on five main themes that recur throughout the text. One way Schulze produces irony is by contradicting the title of his text with its contents. Although purportedly containing "simple" and "provincial" Eastern German stories, the novel is actually extremely complex structurally and consistently thematizes globalization and its inevitable effects on Eastern Germany. Another way Schulze creates irony is by contrasting his characters' pasts with their present situations. Whether or not they had acted ethically in the GDR, for the most part their fates in unified Germany have become detached from their individual efforts to steer them. Their entrapment within obsolete patterns of thinking and acting appears ironic within the context of the greater freedom with which the West tempts them. Schulze's repeated references to animals also take on an ironic significance when their fates parallel those of their owners or when they become metaphors for the Eastern German unification experience. Last but not least, like the other authors in this study, Schulze integrates intertextual parodies and self-ironic, autobiographical references within the text that compel the reader to look beyond the text itself to piece together its hidden meanings. For the most part, Schulze's ironic language use is not analyzed here, because its realistic, everyday descriptive character, avoiding wordplays and dialect, does not beg interpretation and because its typically Eastern German aspects resemble those of other Eastern German satirists whose conscious word selection and more prominent linguistic experimentation have been highlighted elsewhere in this study. Furthermore, detailed discussions of Schulze's language already exist. Horst Dieter Schlosser, for instance, terms the language Schulze adopts in Simple Storys a "third language" (alluding to "der dritte Weg" as an alternative to capitalism and

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socialism) between GDR-German and Bundesdeutsch, and argues that it communicates authenticity, despite Schulze's denial of consciously striving for authenticity while writing the novel.42 Like Loest, Schulze has his figures speak a language that mixes GDR and Western German, though Schulze consciously avoids having them speak in Saxon (or Thuringian) dialect like Loest sometimes does. In Stern magazine Gerda-Marie Schönfeld summarizes Schulze's position toward the use of dialect in Simple Storys, as well as the negative images this dialect conjures in Western Germans when they hear it, which justify its avoidance in any artwork to be marketed in the West: Die Sache mit dem Dialekt hat Ingo Schulze übrigens sorgsam bedacht. In einer frühen Fassung sprechen seine Helden Mundart. Das erschien ihm dann zu denunziatorisch, womit er im Hinblick auf Lesungen sicher recht hat, denn Sächsisch stand im Westen jahrzehntelang für den Klassenfeind an und für sich, für Walter Ulbricht, Broiler-Kommunismus, Ostzone, für die ganze ärmliche 43 "loser" Gang aus dem verbarrikadierten Dunkeldeutschland eben.

In the second half of the novel more Western vocabulary words and product brands creep in, reflecting his characters' gradual postwall transition from a GDR to a liminal, no-longer-East but not-quite-Western identity. In this way and others, as demonstrated in the following analysis, what appears realistic in the novel is actually conveyed via a densely constructed, highly symbolic and intertextually rich ironic aesthetic. The Local Meets the Global in "Provincial" Eastern Germany The full title of this novel, Simple Storys: Ein Roman aus der ostdeutschen Provinz, besides juxtaposing two quite different genres—the short story and the novel—suggests that it will present straightforward narratives from the backwoods of Eastern Germany. The German plural form of the English loan word "story," instead of spelling "stories" as dictated by English rules, further binds the text to its specific German context, _____________ 42

43

"Ostidentität mit Westmarken? Die 'dritte Sprache' in Ingo Schulzes Simple Storys zwischen DDR-Deutsch und Bundesdeutsch," in An der Jahrtausendwende. Schlaglichter auf die deutsche Literatur, ed. Christine Cosentino, Wolfgang Ertl and Wolfgang Müller (Frankfurt a. M. et al.: Peter Lang, 2003) 53-68 and the interview with Schulze, which Schlosser quotes from the June 1998 edition of the Berlin magazine zitty, in which Schulze admits, "[d]as Lob, als Autor authentisch zu sein, hat mich noch ratloser gemacht als der Tadel, es nicht zu sein." While Schlosser points out numerous examples of East and West German words and expressions, explaining their meanings and how they function as distinct groups of signifiers within the text, Hannelore Poethe limits her similarly helpful discussion to Schulze's specifically East(ern) German lexic in "'Simple Storys'—Das Alltägliche im Poetischen," Zeitschrift für Germanistik Neue Folge 1 (2001): 71-87. "Notizen aus der Provinz," Stern 21, 14 May 1998, 210-212, 211.

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despite the fact that the short story is considered an American genre. What this title thus intimates, though scholars have not yet explored its full ramifications, is that one of the novel's main themes is the cultural clash between Eastern Germans and an international Other. In the article "Beyond a Trotzidentität? Storytelling and the Postcolonial Voice in Ingo Schulze's Simple Storys," Paul Cooke reads the novel's dynamic, disjointed narrative structure as a "writing back" against stereotypes of Eastern Germans imposed on them by the West within a context Cooke carefully compares to Western colonization of the Third World.44 While this may be true, and Cooke's article provides valuable insights into Schulze's narrative aesthetic and its function, viewed from the perspective of Schulze's non-German characters, the novel actually reinforces the stereotype of Eastern Germans as xenophobic. Although not all Eastern Germans are depicted as racists, and not all of their encounters with the foreign result in animosity toward foreigners, these encounters point toward the deep psychological effects that globalization had on Eastern Germany both before and after unification. Among other issues associated with Eastern German provincialism, Schulze particularly exposes through their transnational interactions the various levels of Eastern German racism that do exist, including arrogance, monolithic judgments, and a perception of the foreign as Other. Such racism most likely persists within the mentality of Eastern Germans (and elsewhere), as a defense mechanism to delineate their own identity based on negation of the Other and thereby to raise their status within a superficially unified space that has turned them into an inferior Other in the eyes of the West. Schulze highlights the perhaps unexpected, international nature of Eastern Germany and, thereby, the irony of Eastern German animosity toward foreigners, by giving his German characters foreign, generally Italian-derived names like Raffael, Enrico, Barbara, Danny (short for Daniela), and Andrea. That they are aware of these names as being of foreign origin can be seen in the ironic decision Schulze has the would-be author and alcoholic Enrico Friedrich make to change his name "Enrico" to its German equivalent, "Heinrich," in the second-to-last chapter of the novel (284-5). Enrico rationalizes his decision to Raffael (the German owner of a taxi company who no longer employs foreigners since a Cuban employee was stabbed by a Neonazi) and to Raffael's wife Petra by claiming a German name will boost his career. When Raffael asks Enrico why the name "Heinrich" is now displayed on Enrico's apartment complex nameplate, Enrico replies: _____________ 44

Forum for Modern Language Studies 34.3 (2003): 290-305.

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"Heinrich ist einfach nur eingedeutscht. Ich wollts jetzt machen. Besser, man regelt das, bevors losgeht." "Bevors losgeht?" fragte ich [Raffael]. Er musterte mich. "Die Karriere", sagte er zögernd. "Enrico klang doch gut", sagte Petra und sah wieder auf. "Ich dachte schon, ein Verwandter von Ihnen wär eingezogen." [...] "Bei den Modenamen weiß keiner, welche Sprache eigentlich dahintersteckt", sagte Friedrich. "Mir geht es um die Sprache, sonst nichts." "Ah ja", sagte Petra. "Nein", sagte er, "nichts Nationalistisches, überhaupt nicht." (284-5)

The multiple scenes in the novel that showcase Neonazi aggression toward foreigners and Germans should make the irony in Enrico's response apparent: "bevors losgeht" does not refer to Enrico's potentially successful writing career, but rather to the threat of Neonazi violence and other, racist prejudice, which could be provoked by his foreign-sounding name. When Raffael and Petra later read some of Enrico's prolific writing, in the form of a novel, paradoxically titled "Schweigen" ("Silence"), they realize that Enrico is completely confused and that his "writing career" is a pipe dream (Raffael: "Ich verstand nichts. [...] Ich begriff keinen Satz. Das heißt, ich fand kaum Sätze, nur aneinandergereihte Worte [...]" [289]). The unintelligible nature of Enrico's prose grants his name change an ironic futility. Having Enrico elevate "language for language's sake" ("Mir geht es um die Sprache, sonst nichts") to the point at which all meaning is lost can also be interpreted as Schulze's comic jab at authors (perhaps the East Berlin Prenzlauer Berg scene?) who assume a similar stance toward their writing. The ultimate irony for Enrico comes, however, when he silences himself permanently by committing suicide a few months hence by throwing himself down his building's stairwell (290-1). His name change has neither helped his career nor held off physical violence by mitigating his alcohol-induced depression. Enrico is not the only character in Simple Storys reduced to "Schweigen" by unification. Here, however, Schulze's application of irony to a character's tragicomic life decisions invokes the reader's sympathy. By contrast to the character Enrico, in which the fictional author's awareness of himself as Other generates sympathy, at other times Schulze condemns Eastern German views of foreigners as racist stereotypes. He does this repeatedly by integrating foreign characters into his chapters who differ noticeably from the German characters' views of them. Harry Nelson, the dashing American real estate developer, acts like the stereotype of a victorious Russian soldier at the end of World War II, sexually assaulting the 19-year-old waitress, Conni Schubert, one evening after work. Needless to say, Harry does not live up to Conni's high expectations of him as her Western savior and disappears from Altenburg

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after the crime, even though she forgives him, initially maintaining her desire to marry him and raise a family (29). Orlando, the Cuban taxi driver who is stabbed by a Neonazi, actually possesses two university degrees in mechanical engineering, from Havana and the Technische Universität in Dresden (94). Germans from both East and West—and Caucasians in general—tend to regard people of color or foreigners as uneducated. Paradoxically, Orlando's underemployment and later unemployment binds him to, rather than separating him from, his fellow Eastern Germans. Lastly, the lost, female "Japanese" tourist whom Martin Meurer encounters in Halberstadt is actually from Korea. When Martin refers to her in his thoughts, he calls her "die Japanerin," even after asking her where she is from and having her tell him she is from Korea (46-7). After helping her find her way, he further objectifies her by speculating "ich [würde] Andrea jederzeit mit einer Japanerin betrügen" (47). Here, the typical male, objectifying gaze is exposed through the encounter of Martin the Eastern German with an unsuspecting female Korean tourist. Eastern German responses to these individuals demonstrate the fossilization of their ironic, stereotypical views. Instead of commiserating with those foreigners who share their fates, and carrying on the Soviet-promoted idea in the GDR of brotherhood with all citizens of socialist countries, as well as with the colonized victims of imperialism—which seemed to be embedded in Eastern Germany before unification—, the opposite often appears to be true in this novel. Further, similar scenes unfold when Schulze's Eastern German characters witness random violent acts within Germany committed by unidentified perpetrators or when they travel abroad. Finding a broken window in a rundown summer cottage they visit in the Harz Mountains, Ernst and Renate Meurer irrationally blame Romanian "Dreckskerle" (72) for the damage, and Patrick and Lydia suspect they are being pursued by "Rumänen, Russen, Polen, was weiß ich" one night when they are aggressively chased by a car on their way home from a party (66). While abroad, the Eastern Germans complain about their circumstances and compare foreign places to the GDR. Depicting these characters traveling abroad permits Schulze to emphasize their particular "Eastern Germanness," including extreme frugality and lack of savoir faire when selecting accommodations or food. Their naiveté may appear quaint, but it leads to their dissatisfaction with these foreign experiences and to constant attempts to remember, and thereby to elevate the status of, East(ern) Germany. On their trip to Italy, for example, one of Ernst and Renate Meurer's bus companions compares a 500-year-old unfinished cathedral façade in Perugia to the dilapidated buildings in the GDR: "daran gemessen schneide die DDR gar nicht schlecht ab" (18). Such a

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comparison drawn between a highly valued historical monument like this cathedral and the generally undervalued Altbau-Wohnungen in the GDR is mirthfully incongruous. The frequency of the obvious comparing, labelling, and/or racism expressed in these encounters with the foreign Other indicates that Schulze employs irony in these cases within realistic scenarios to hold the prejudice and ignorance of his fellow Eastern Germans up to critical scrutiny. Their narrow-mindedness regarding global encounters in their local community and abroad brings the novel full-circle, back to its subtitle, "Ein Roman aus der ostdeutschen Provinz." Biographical Ruptures: Tragicomic Eastern German Stories The fates of the Eastern German characters in Simple Storys and their diverse reactions toward these fates also appear ironic when viewed from the perspective of their less free, but socially secure, GDR pasts. Claudia Kramatschek summarizes the central message of Schulze's stories thus: "Sie alle handeln von der Deformierung des Menschen aufgrund der hiesigen Kontrolle durch das Geld, die der früheren politischen Unfreiheit in nichts nachsteht. Keine großen Betrügereien, nein, eher der schrecklich alltägliche Verrat an Idealen und Menschen."45 The betrayal of ideals and people Kramatschek mentions is closely tied to Schulze's characters' original professions and whether they are able to find work or not after unification. This fact should come as no surprise considering the high value placed on work and having a secure job in the Arbeiter- und Bauernstaat GDR. Almost all of Schulze's characters become unemployed repeatedly after the Wende, and when they find work, it is nearly always beneath their education or somewhere in the West. Martin Meurer, on the cusp of completing a Ph.D. in art history, loses his graduate assistantship and is forced to become a salesman for building façade preservation chemicals (chapter 4) and later a street peddler dressed in a scuba diver's _____________ 45

Claudia Kramatschek, "Provinz-Welten. Literarische Landnahme jenseits der Idylle," neue deutsche literatur 46.3 (May/June 1998): 181-183, 181. On page 220, Schulze has Renate Meurer say "Geld ist manchmal schlimmer als Partei," and later: "Hauptsache, Geld und Arbeit und Wohnung und EC-Karte und daß man sich auskennt mit Gesetzen und Formularen. Was anderes interessiert nicht, nicht die Bohne" (225). Regarding the welfare forms she had to fill out to help her support her unemployed husband, she claims: "Am Ende wissen die [die Beamten beim Sozialamt] mehr als die Stasi" (227). Ironically, the esteemed East(ern) German literature journal neue deutsche literatur itself nearly stopped production for financial reasons in 2003, and only the outcry it raised led the publishing house Schwartzkopff to reinstate it, albeit as a yearly rather than bimonthly periodical, with an updated, larger format (Marc Degens, "ndl—neue deutsche literatur," satt.org 24 June 2004, 28 March 2006 ).

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suit advertising for the Nordsee fish restaurant chain in Stuttgart (chapter 29). Danny, at first a reporter, later lives on welfare, and Hanni, a biologist, initially works at several jobs before retreating into alcoholism. By contrast to these characters, who enjoy the author's (and reader's) sympathy for their pitiable fates, Ernst Meurer, the former SED party member and dictatorial school director, becomes the brunt of satirical attacks. These take place in chapter 7, ironically titled "Sommerfrische," because the "freshness" it should impart to its protagonists Ernst and Renate while on vacation in the country only reveals their inability to relax and narrow-mindedness (see above reference to their prejudices against Romanians). Here, Ernst revels in his newly acquired Western German identity, which Schulze demonstrates to be a superficial, opportunistic construct. Ernst draws a sense of superiority in particular from the leading role of Western German automakers in the world: Falls er sich einmal einen Wagen zulegte, wollte er einen deutschen kaufen, zumindest einen, hinter dem eine deutsche Firma stand. Ihm fiel Seat ein und Skoda. Doch selbst wenn man die beiden nicht mitzählte, hatten die Deutschen sechs verschiedene Marken, die Italiener samt Ferrari vier und die Franzosen nur drei, trotz Renault. [...] Dafür war der Golf die Nummer 1 in Europa. (75)

It is ironic that Ernst draws vicarious pride from a fetishized consumer good like the automobile which in his case is beyond his financial means as an unemployed Eastern German. Unlike the Volkswagen Golf, his position is far from Number 1 in Europe. Schulze further documents Eastern German naiveté in a Western context, foreshadowing Ernst's later mental illness, by depicting how Meurer gullibly appropriates what he watches on Western German television. Schulze's humor is evidenced by his choice of the mainstream, private channel Pro 7 as the transmitter of an American television show that raises insecurities in Ernst's mind as to whether U.F.O.s exist or not: "Keinesfalls wollte er die Existenz von Ufos ausschließen, sich aber erst dann ernsthaft mit ihnen beschäftigen, sollte er in der Tagesschau davon erfahren" (79). Later, on the same stroll through the countryside, he climbs a high hill and muses: "Ohne daß es seine Absicht gewesen war, hatte er den höchsten Punkt weit und breit angesteuert. So etwas passierte einfach. Vielleicht war es ein natürliches Bedürfnis, also in den Genen angelegt, daß der Mensch danach strebt, Gipfel zu erobern. Im Darwinschen Kampf der Arten konnte das von Vorteil sein" (79). Not only does Meurer's reference here to Darwin fly in the face of his former socialist belief in the promotion of egalitarianism, but his momentary feelings of "conquering the highest peak" soon fade after spending the night in the unrenovated shack with its broken window. As the reader later learns, the following morning he fled back home to his wife (226),

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abruptly ending what was supposed to be a relaxing vacation. After several years of unemployment and psychological paralysis following unification, he finally succumbs to mental illness and is committed to a hospital. In the same hospital, the psychologist Dr. Holitzschek tells Renate and Martin Meurer that his case is "kein Einzelfall" (221). In a world in which "survival of the fittest" is the rule, according to Ingo Schulze's stories, the Eastern Germans are generally not the fittest. One of the most famous and frequently quoted scenes in the novel— chapter 2 "Neues Geld," in which Schulze depicts the sexual assault of the 19-year-old Conni Schubert by the American Harry Nelson—must also be viewed as Schulze's ironic comment on the effects of the post-unification Western "colonization" of the East. After being sexually assaulted, Conni reacts illogically, viewing Harry as "meinen zukünftigen Mann, den Vater meiner vielen Kinder, der mit niemandem vergleichbar war, der mir die Welt zeigen und alles verstehen, der mich beschützen—und rächen würde" (29). After comparing this story to its precedent, the Hemingway short story "Up in Michigan" from In Our Time, Manfred Durzak criticizes Ingo Schulze for being a "Kopist," who "die poetische Plausibilität der Hemingway-Geschichte zerstört," by having Conni act implausibly toward her violent attacker. What Durzak fails to realize, however, are two important messages Schulze conveys by intending this scene to be read ironically. Conni's reaction to Harry's sexual (and, by extension, economic and cultural) "violation" and "colonization" of the East corresponds to Western German expectations of how Eastern Germans should have reacted to the influx of Western consumer goods, democracy, and freedom in the East. Instead of displaying shock and unhappiness as many of them did, they were expected to be happy with their new situation. When viewed as an allegory of colonization and its falsely anticipated results, this rape scene and its effects reveal Schulze's ironic critiques of unrealistic Western (and Eastern) expectations. Furthermore, the original disillusionment of Hemingway's violated young woman, Liz Coates, while not applying to Conni Schubert in the above quote, does appear further down on the same page, countering Conni's initial fawning devotion to Harry: "Obwohl ich so naiv und blauäugig gewesen wäre, sagen sie, hätte ich bereits sehr früh—als sich die andern noch Illusionen hingaben—, bereits da hätte ich gewußt, wie alles hier kommen würde. Und damit haben sie ja auch irgendwie recht" (29). Though Conni is disillusioned by Harry's behavior, however, she does not allow it to defeat her. Ironically becoming one of the few "survivors" in the novel whom Schulze holds up as a positive model, Conni successfully escapes unemployment and the need for parental or state welfare assistance in the East by taking a waitressing job first in Lübeck, then on an English cruise ship. Her story and that of

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Renate Meurer, a successful bookkeeper who finds work in Altenburg, then in Stuttgart, eventually leaving her husband Ernst for another man, both demonstrate how triumph can emerge from tragedy, transmitting a message of optimism paralleling Hemingway's intentions in many of his short stories, despite their frequently brutal and tragic scenes.46 Egoism, Mortality, and the Environment In Simple Storys Schulze refers continually to various animals like fish, dogs, cats, birds, turtles, and elephants. These animal references appear ironic when the animals' fates mimic their owners' or when they become metaphors for the Eastern German unification experience. Martin Halter aptly describes their symbolic fates: "Haustiere leiden unter der neuen Zeit so gut wie 'anerkannte Verfolgte' unter den alten Seilschaften" in the GDR.47 Among the chapter titles, one can find "Zugvögel" (migratory birds), "Zwei Frauen, ein Kind, Terry, das Monstrum und der Elefant" (the elephant is actually a large, grey armchair), "Big Mac und Big Bang" (two names given to an actual fish), and "Fische" (referring to Martin and Jenny having to wear fish costumes to market the Nordsee restaurant). In chapter 5, "Zugvögel," Schulze connects the devastating post-industrial fates of migratory birds to the postwall fates of Eastern Germans by having the psychologist Dr. Barbara Holitzschek lecture Lydia on the flight patterns of these birds and point out how their paths are being altered by global warming (53-54). The birds to which Dr. Holitzschek refers, some of which demonstrate adaptability to the new circumstances and others of which die if unable to adjust their geographical homing instincts and follow new flight patterns, can be viewed as an extended metaphor for the Eastern German situation. Schulze ironically relativizes the fates of Eastern Germans by comparing them to the birds, some species of which he has Dr. Holitzschek describe as condemned to die en masse for environmental reasons less within their control than the factors contributing to individual Eastern German life tragedies ("Dabei stehen schon 70 Prozent der einheimischen Brutvögel auf der Liste der bedrohten Tiere" [54]). _____________ 46 47

See Cleanth Brooks's and Robert Penn Warren's analysis of Hemingway's short stories in "The Killers" from The Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway: Critical Essays, ed. Jackson J. Benson (Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1975): 187-196, 193. "Froschmann in der Fußgängerzone," Badische Zeitung 7 April 1998, KUL 4. "Seilschaften," deriving from the word "Seil" or "rope," were political networks in the GDR that assisted their members to get ahead, but also sometimes punished adversaries or outsiders.

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A further irony within the same chapter is connected to an imaginary dachshund. The irony derives from the fact that the psychologist Dr. Holitzschek cannot cure her own psychosis, which is tied to this dog she invented to repress the traumatic truth of her responsibility for a hit-andrun homicide. Although she claims to have run over a dachshund, the truth later comes out that she had actually hit Andrea Meurer, Martin's wife, leaving her on the road to die.48 Dr. Holitzschek's delusional replacement of the woman with the dog gains a more personal ironic significance when it is mirrored by her ethical conviction that humans and animals share similar emotions and egoistical drives and should thus be viewed as equals: "Die sind wie Menschen, die Tiere, das heißt, man muß sie wie Menschen behandeln. Die kann man genauso enttäuschen. Und untereinander sind sie auch so, egoistisch und rücksichtslos. […] Das ist alles. Alles ist Egoismus" (52). In this chapter, the doctor's own egoism leads her to repress the tragic hit-and-run murder of a human being. Replacing the woman with the dachshund in her mind, she thus escapes punishment under the law, which prevents her from losing her job as a psychologist and protects her husband, a politician, from scandal, but does not diminish her nagging feelings of guilt (90, 192, 224). Two further ironic events attached to this murder, which demonstrate the complexity of Schulze's storytelling, can be detected in Martin Meurer's positive reaction to his wife's death in chapter 10 and in the downward spiral into which his father, Ernst, and son, Tino, enter after her death. Instead of mourning Andrea's loss, Martin is relieved that she is gone, confessing to his birth father, Doktor Reinhardt, that he perceives this loss more like a lifted burden: "Ich hab mir gewünscht, daß Andrea stirbt, und dann ist es passiert" (106). After her death, Martin becomes estranged from his son, but carries on with his life, finding a potential new mate in Jenny at the novel's end. When Ernst becomes mentally ill, however, he is ironically placed in the care of the successful but still guiltridden Dr. Holitzschek, his daughter-in-law's murderer, whom neither he nor his family suspect of the crime (chapter 22). The egoism Dr. Holitzschek observes as shared by humans and animals thus blooms in Schulze's fictional Eastern Germany, the egoistical Martin and Dr. Holitzschek serving as examples that tie the novel to universal questions of human existence and the global impact of environmental destruction. Chapter 15, bearing two quirky names given to a fish, "Big Mac und Big Bang," like the chapters "Neues Geld" and "Die Killer," strongly _____________ 48

The dachshund may or may not possess a symbolic function, since Schulze transposed this event from a real-life experience his girlfriend had. She actually ran over a dachshund and offered its corpse to the Natural History Museum in Berlin (Thomas Geiger, "Wie eine Geschichte im Kopf entsteht" 116).

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reflects the influence of the American short story, especially Hemingway's and Faulkner's, on Schulze's writing. Its position at the exact center of his novel indicates its important, pivotal function. In this chapter, the two fifty-something small-town men Peter Bertram and Dieter Schubert take a camping and fishing trip together. Schulze emphasizes the German location of the scene, contrasting it with the "big woods" of the original American context of Hemingway's and Faulkner's texts, by having Bertram and Schubert hear the crackling of the electricity in the wires leading from a nearby power plant, as well as the sound of the cars on a nearby road, while they fish (155). The scene thus highlights the difficulty Germans often face in trying to "get back to nature" within their densely populated country. "Big Mac" and "Big Bang" are two hilarious names that Bertram and Schubert give to a huge, 120-pound carp they catch inadvertently twice in a row. These and other fish names, used by these two Eastern Germans within this particular context, invite multiple interpretations and thus constitute an example of unstable irony. As the signature hamburger at McDonald's, the "Big Mac," when applied by Peter Bertram to the fish, indicates that the vocabulary of Western consumer goods has thoroughly penetrated the Eastern German psyche and become a tool with which to be played. The inappropriate labeling of a fish with the title of a beef hamburger also provokes laughter. The name "Big Bang" eventually takes on a tragic meaning in this chapter, however, as both the fish and Dieter Schubert die simultaneously—the fish for lack of air and Dieter of a heart attack after struggling to pull it out of the water. "Big Bang," the euphemistic term for the scientific theory that a massive explosion led to the creation of the universe, is an ironic name for a fish whose capture leads to its own and its captor's death. The immense size of the fish and the fact that it earns for itself a name, "a definite designation like a living man," connects this chapter to the American tall tale tradition.49 Having Dieter Schubert die after catching the fish grants his death a mythological significance befitting his nickname, "Zeus," referring to the supreme ruler of the Greek gods and Mount Olympus, as well as being a Greek word for "fish." Perhaps this tale of Schubert's premature death will be passed down orally, becoming a new legend in Schulze's fictional town of Altenburg. An extended metaphor, the death of the fish when captured also points to the Eastern German experience of being "fish out of water" after losing their homeland.50 Thomas _____________ 49 50

William Faulkner, Go Down, Moses (New York: Vintage, 1990, orig. 1940) 185. This theme of Eastern Germans being "fish out of water" in unified Germany is picked up again in chapter 29, "Fische," when Martin Meurer and Jenny wear fish costumes in a pedestrian zone in Stuttgart to advertise the Nordsee fish restaurant. While some

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Rothschild interprets the fish's death thus: "Für die Freiheit, die ihm seine Fänger, nur an der Leistung, nicht am Tauschwert interessiert, nach dem ersten Mal schenkten, hat er offenbar keine Verwendung."51 It also appears ironic when an Eastern German like Dieter Schubert dies of too much freedom during what is supposed to be a pleasurable vacation. Interpreting this scene gets trickier when considering the potential literary allusions contained within the three fish names "Big Mac," "Big Ben," and "Big Bang" in this chapter. Lodged between Peter Bertram's labels "Big Mac" and "Big Bang" is Dieter Schubert's suggested name for the fish, "Big Ben," which Bertram rejects with the words "Big Ben gibts schon" (156). Since Schulze does not have Bertram state openly where "Big Ben" already exists, the reader is left to speculate as to the bearer of this name. Does Bertram mean the famous Big Ben clock tower in London, which is unlikely, since "Big Mac" and "Big Bang" also refer to other objects besides fish, or does he mean that he has already caught a fish on a previous hunting trip to which he gave the same name? Or is Schulze referring to another Big Ben, perhaps the legendary bear Old Ben from William Faulkner's 1940 novel Go Down, Moses, whose loosely connected short story format Simple Storys mimics? In Faulkner's chapter "The Bear," a group of hunters tries repeatedly to kill the huge bear Old Ben because it has terrorized their community for years (183-315). In killing the bear at last, one of the hunters dies of a heart attack and his dog is killed by the bear. Interpreted from this angle, Schubert's death could be viewed as manly and honorable. Another possible model for this name, however, is the corrupt father figure Big Ben in Cormac McCarthy's tragicomic 1994 play The Stonemason.52 This model would add a negative connotation to Schubert's post-unification lifestyle. Like Dieter Schubert, Big Ben has a mistress, spends large sums of money, is estranged from his child, and dies within the play, in his case by committing suicide. Viewed from yet another angle—that of the legendary fisherman who dies on catching the biggest fish—Schulze's chapter 15 also alludes to Herman Melville's Moby Dick and Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea. Injecting the three deceptively simple names "Big Mac," "Big Bang," and "Big Ben," into a scene portraying the life-and-death struggle of an Eastern German and a fish, Schulze alludes to many possible signifiers and textual precedents, ranging from popular cultural icons to canonical literary models, opening this scene to multiple, unstable ironic interpretations. _____________ 51 52

Stuttgarters find the costumes amusing, one man punches Martin in the face for speaking with an Eastern German accent (300-301). Thomas Rothschild, "Zweimal am Haken," Spectrum 4 April 1998, v. New York: Vintage, 1995, orig. 1994.

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Adding to this ironic ambiguity is the fact that Peter Bertram earns his living writing pornographic fiction. Perhaps "Big Ben" refers to one of his fictional porn stars. That Bertram, the porn writer, has the gall to accuse Schubert of hiring a prostitute because he pays Jenny for her time and company, is also deeply morally ironic (154-5). Bertram's judgment of Schubert, who possesses an exemplary East(ern) German biography as a teacher and a victim of political persecution, emphasizes the ambiguous moral nature of both characters. As the above scenes show, the realism in Schulze's novel derives largely from the moral ambiguity attached to all of his characters: none of them is a "positive hero" in the socialist realist sense. The various animals that Schulze includes in nearly every chapter also add depth, color, and emotion to these characters' fictional worlds and contribute to the production of irony in the novel. The animals' generally negative, even deadly, fates parallel those of his characters and extend his social critiques beyond the Eastern German provinces to encompass archetypical human interactions with the natural environment. Self-Parody and Crime Story Hyperbole in the "Wild East" With the character Christian Beyer, a young businessman struggling to manage a local Altenburg Anzeigenblatt in the early postwall period, Schulze makes direct reference to his own biography. A ruthless and ultimately unsuccessful businessman, Christian may or may not be an exaggerated figure, since Schulze describes his own newspaper editor experiences as a stressful fight for survival that constricted him and led him at times to act pragmatically rather than empathetically: "Ich hatte die Sorgen eines Geschäftsmanns mit ca. 20 Angestellten. Das schnürte mich ziemlich zu" (Geiger 108). Although Christian appears in other chapters as well, in exploring this example of self-parody and intertextuality, I focus on the tragicomic chapter 12, entitled "Die Killer." Readers of all ages familiar with American film noir or popular crime films like Quentin Tarrantino's Reservoir Dogs or Pulp Fiction can grin when they read "Die Killer." One young writer for the youth magazine Junge Welt expressed his enjoyment of this chapter thus: Einmal parodiert er [Schulze] sich sogar selbst: Mit dem hardboiled HemingwayRemix 'Die Killer,' in der zwei Anzeigenacquisiteure es ihrem Konkurrenten mal so richtig zeigen, treibt Schulze das Prinzip der Short Story als Ostprodukt auf die Spitze. Das ist sehr lustig, und die Dialoge sind genauso cool wie die Luft unter dem kreisenden Ventilator.53

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Stephan Maus, "The sun also rises over Altenburg," Lyrikwelt 2002, 24 February 2006 .

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This time Schulze rewrites Hemingway's short story of the same title, "The Killers," in order to poke fun at, and emphasize through ironic understatement, the difficulties Eastern Germans had when trying to succeed as businessmen in the new, competitive Western economy. In the original American short story "The Killers" from Men Without Women, Hemingway depicts the reactions of his main character, the youth Nick Adams, a diner operator named George, and the retired boxer Ole Andreson to the traumatic visit of two hired killers to their small Midwestern town.54 The two hit-men take Nick, George, and a cook hostage in the diner to wait for Andreson to arrive for dinner so they can kill him. When Andreson does not appear, the hit-men depart, and Nick runs to warn Andreson of their plan. After Andreson informs the boy of his unwillingness to flee his pursuers and thus fatalistic acceptance of his impending murder, Nick comes to a revelation about differences in human nature, what it means to die with dignity, and the unavoidability of evil in the world. While Hemingway's "Wild West," mafia-like story focuses on a life-and-death situation that contributes to Nick Adams' coming of age, Schulze's portrays a more everyday scene of humiliation and the struggle for economic survival. Schulze transposes Hemingway's plot onto an Eastern German scenario of business contract negotiation in order to deflate his characters' large egos and to relativize the seeming seriousness of their "cut-throat" business strategies. Instead of the two hired assassins Al and Max from "The Killers," the arrogant and impudent young newspaper editors Pit Meurer and Edgar Körner play the role of aggressors in this story, which takes place in the main office of a furniture store. A direct connection to film noir is made in the introductory paragraph, in which Pit and Edgar, the purported "killers," are described entering the furniture store (fittingly named "Möbelparadies") like two mafia bosses coming to collect protection money: Es klopft. Im selben Moment betreten zwei junge Männer das Vorzimmer. Beide tragen Blazer, Krawatte und hellbraune Slipper. Ihre Bewegungen sind sportlich. Die Hände haben sie frei. In der Mitte des Raumes bleiben sie nebeneinander stehen. Über ihnen kreist ein Ventilator. (124)

Their semi-formal dress; "sporty" movements; hands free of briefcases, implying they could be used to draw guns or sling punches; positioning of themselves at the center of the room; and the addition of a "cool" ceiling fan—common in the U.S. but extremely rare in Europe—create a threatening atmosphere. This atmosphere is perpetuated by Pit and Edgar's demands on the secretary, Marianne Schubert, to see the boss and then to serve them coffee (124-125). While Pit, Edgar, and Christian, _____________ 54

New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1955, orig. 1927, 45-55.

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representing two competing newspapers, wait for the store owner to meet with them to negotiate an advertising contract, Pit and Edgar strive to make a fool out of their competitor. In the end, however, they only make fools of themselves. Schulze transposes the serious Hemingway story onto this trivial, Eastern German interaction in order to diminish Pit and Edgar and in so doing to show how free market competition—not unlike the socialist system, which led to Ernst Meurer's denunciation of Dieter Schubert—can inflate petty animosities and lead to character defamation. After letting out their "hot air" on Christian with Marianne Schubert, the boss's secretary, as a witness, Pit and Edgar impatiently depart from the furniture store office, leaving Christian to win the competition by getting the advertising contract with the furniture store manager. The "killers" here, since they pose no real threat to anyone, are thus ironically deflated. Schulze's intertextual references to Hemingway's short story increase the ironic effect of this deflation. Schulze's laconic, "cool" writing style, contribute here to what Paul Cooke has called a "dynamic narrative process" that "give[s] a strong sense of an East German community, albeit full of contradictions and tensions, which is distinct within German society" (301). What makes Simple Storys such a successful Wenderoman as opposed to other, less well-known Eastern German satirical novels like Katerfrühstück, Der Quotensachse, or Spur der Broiler, however, is its complexity, subtlety, stable and unstable irony, and the presentation of Eastern German problems as universal. Some of these issues result from globalization (i.e., unemployment, the interaction with the foreign) and, taking the form of characters in the novel and the more abstract ideology of capitalism, emphasize the need to reorient oneself in new political circumstances. Other issues pertain to the human condition in general, such as the difficult and often unsuccessful search for a fulfilling love relationship, depression, mental illness, alcoholism, and the human domination of nature. What propelled this novel to canonical status is its blending of the local with the transnational and the global.

Conclusions: Binaries and (Un)successful Identities What connects Simple Storys to Katerfrühstück, beyond a shared ironic realist aesthetic, is the binaries the two authors set up and chart, which become more pronounced in Braun's Der Wendehals and Hensel's Gipshut, discussed in Chapter 4. These binaries, between "socialists" and "capitalists" and losers and winners, reside within characters like Loest's Heinz Broeker and Schulze's Ernst Meurer, two "losers" who contrast with the "winners" Wilfried Broeker and Dieter Schubert. Both Heinz and Ernst adhered to

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the socialist ideology before the GDR's demise, worked within it fruitfully (Heinz as composer, Ernst as school director), and rapidly became disillusioned with German society after 1989. Having identified strongly with their professions in the GDR, both were rendered unemployed and impotent with the socio-political shift. They suffer from what Friedrich Nietzsche in The Genealogy of Morals termed ressentiment—resentment toward one's position in life coupled with an inability to forget the past and move forward into the future with a positive outlook. Nietzsche contrasts those who suffer from ressentiment with their opposite, the strong and the happy: "Seine Feinde, seine Unfälle, seine Untaten selbst nicht lange ernst nehmen können—das ist das Zeichen starker voller Naturen, in denen ein Überschuß plastischer, nachbildender, ausheilender, auch vergessenmachender Kraft ist [...]."55 Unable to forget their past engagement with the GDR's socialist experiment, both men wallow in unproductive disillusionment with their new, capitalist environment. By contrast to the authors in Chapter 1, who provide their self-pitying narrators with a strong dose of self-irony to counter their negative feelings, and those in Chapter 2, who grant their protagonists the selfconfidence and motivation to overcome hardships and thrive, Loest and Schulze demonstrate the detrimental effects the Wende has had on many Eastern Germans. Wilfried Broeker and Dieter Schubert resemble each other, too, in that each is a pleasure-seeker and an opportunist. Each values and thus maintains a façade for the sake of his family and profession, while holding onto a few vestiges of the socialist ideals he had learned growing up in the GDR. Both revel in the freedoms they enjoy in the capitalist system and do not shy away from engaging in private immoral acts if they contribute to their ability to enjoy life to the fullest. But both authors, Loest and Schulze, also display a pessimistic view of their characters' nature, which they depict as selfish. These individual, selfish drives, they assert, propel society forward in ways which prohibit the kind of societal advancement toward equality and social justice which Marx and (uncorrupted) socialist leaders had envisioned. According to their respective assessments of this aspect of human nature, the socialist experiment was doomed to fail. _____________ 55

Friedrich Nietzsche, Zur Genealogie der Moral in Nietzsche: Studienausgabe, ed. Hans Heinz Holz (Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1968) 46. In Vom Nutzen und Nachteil der Historie für das Leben, Nietzsche writes similarly: "Zu allem Handeln gehört Vergessen: wie zum Leben alles Organischen nicht nur Licht, sondern auch Dunkel gehört. Ein Mensch, der durch und durch nur historisch empfinden wollte, wäre dem ähnlich, der sich des Schlafens zu enthalten gezwungen würde, oder dem Tiere, das nur vom Wiederkäuen und immer wiederholtem Wiederkäuen leben sollte" (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1994) 9-10.

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In Katerfrühstück and Simple Storys Loest and Schulze adopt irony and satire to point out negative aspects both of the Western, hedonistic perspective and the postwall Eastern malaise at the loss of a unifying utopian ideology. Their characters struggle, but rarely succeed, in maintaining emotional connections with each other and thus avoiding the interpersonal alienation supposedly endemic to Western societies. As in other Eastern German satires, utopia is demonstrated only to be achievable on a small, individual scale, within a rare, successful love relationship or a professional career, even if this career does not match one's education or ability. The pragmatic taxi company owner Raffael summarizes this stance: "Ich kann nicht die ganze Welt retten. Was ich retten kann, sind viereinhalb Arbeitsplätze. [...] Ich will keine Aufregung, keine Verwirrungen mehr" (94). In each text, irony is produced by the contrast between Eastern and Western mentalities and shows the distortion of German identities on both sides of the wall before and in the wake of unification. Like the unstable ironies requiring multiple interpretations, these identities are depicted as unstable. Horst Dieter Schlosser describes the gradual shift from a GDR to a Western German mentality as Schulze presents it: Nimmt man indes den spezifischen Sprachgebrauch der Story-Figuren als Kriterium, das Hantieren mit den Resten einer originären DDR-Mentalität und den auf die Erfahrungslücken geklebten Westetiketten, dann nehmen Schulzes Menschen allerdings eine eigene, wenn auch höchst unsichere dritte Position ein: nicht mehr DDR, aber auch noch nicht BRD (67).

Wilfried and Heinz Broeker represent the extremes of Eastern German adaptation to the West—Wilfried as the most completely adapted and Heinz stuck fast in his Eastern mentality—whereas Schulze's panorama of characters represent a wider spectrum of adaptation, most of them located between these two extremes. Because Loest's Wilfried already underwent the transition from an Eastern to a Western society in the 1950s, he is a particularly significant character when compared with the others in these novels. The ways Wilfried adapted to the West in the past, and the fact that by the early 1990s he has still not achieved total integration or acceptance, may serve as an indication of how other Eastern Germans have thus far adapted and will continue to adapt to their new circumstances—as well as how Westerners will continue to view them. Wilfried exemplifies how long these processes can take.

Chapter 4 Grotesque Configurations of Body, Language, and Narrative as Expressions of Trauma and Refractory Identities Volker Braun's Der Wendehals and Kerstin Hensel's Gipshut Often coupled with scatological images or the absurd, the grotesque is integrated into a text to produce shock, disgust, fear, or amusement, tantalizing the reader with a distorted view of reality or hyper-realism. Because socialist literature was supposed to present positive, progressive and realistic images, grotesque depictions of the human body or narrative forms were discouraged in former Soviet Bloc countries like the GDR. Their ambiguity, irrationality, and refractory physicality would have contradicted and subverted the Marxist-Leninist notion that human beings are inherently rational and can be educated uniformly to desire, and work toward building, communism. Shortly before and since the Wende, however, the GDR and its citizens, as well as Eastern German experiences of unification's effects, have frequently been distorted in East(ern) German texts to produce grotesque configurations. Unable to be published officially in the GDR, the late 1980s texts like Katja LangeMüller's Kaspar Mauser or Kerstin Hensel's Auditorium panopticum either appeared in the West, in small, underground GDR editions, or after 1989. Examples of grotesque configurations in post-Wende satires run the gamut from Walter Ulbricht's robotic life-support system in Biskupek's Quotensachse, Klaus Uhltzscht's perversions and fantastically bulging penis in Helden wie wir, and Schlehwein's talking giraffe. Whereas these grotesque bodies are integrated into otherwise causally logical narratives, however, Volker Braun's Der Wendehals (1995) and Kerstin Hensel's Gipshut (1999), similarly highlighting uncntrollable physicality, add grotesque language and narrative structures to their list of grotesque attributes. Braun's characters speak a grotesque, disjointed language, and Gipshut's multiple genres break with conventions to produce a grotesque, narrative ambiguity. Because Der Wendehals and Gipshut display this mode prominently and in diverse ways, they are identified here with the overarching genre term grotesque, representing the extreme end of the satirical spectrum, which stretches from subtle irony on the one hand to the grotesque on the other.

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Like Loest and Schulze, Braun and Hensel belong to two different generations of GDR authors. Braun's poetry, drama, essays, and prose, including Das ungezwungene Leben Kasts (1973), Die unvollendete Geschichte (1977), and the Hinze-Kunze-Roman (1985), entered the German literary canon long before unification, earning him a place in East and West German lexica and literary histories since the 1970s.1 Hensel garnered respect in the GDR in the late '80s for being a talented writer with a rare, working-class background (despite Bitterfelder Weg efforts encouraging workers to write). Now her poetry, drama, essays, and prose, especially Tanz am Kanal (1994) and Im Spinnhaus (2003), attract attention in Germany and abroad. Both authors experiment with diverse styles of language and narrative, as well as characters based on identifiable philosophical or political premises, including in Braun's case the Hegelian master-servant relationship and in Hensel's, male-female gender/power relations. Their writing carries on prewar Modernist and Expressionist traditions, in Hensel's case also Romantic anti-rationalism, fairy tales, the fantastic, and Latin American magic realism.2 Though a strong believer in socialist tenets, Braun expressed ever harsher critiques of the inequalities, restrictions on freedom, and lack of progress toward true socialism in the GDR. His writings parallel and document the political climate of his home country. Hensel's writings, both socially critical and playfully irreverent, are also tied closely to GDR literature traditions, her most obvious models there being Irmtraud Morgner, Karl Mickel, and Volker Braun.3 _____________ 1

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Braun's works from 1959-1993 are collected in Texte in zeitlicher Folge, vol. 1-10, ed. Dieter Schlenstedt, Hinnerk Einhorn, and Wolfgang Geisler (Halle: Mitteldeutscher, 1993). Entries on Braun can be found in Meyers Taschenlexikon: Schriftsteller der DDR (Leipzig: VEB Bibliographisches Institut, 1975), the Autorenlexikon deutschsprachiger Literatur des 20. Jahrhunderts, 2nd. rev. and exp. ed. (Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1995, orig. 1984), and the Walther Killy Literaturlexikon (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann Lexikon, 1993). Rainer Nägele, citing a 1979 interview with Fritz Rudolf Fries, points out that Latin American authors like Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Vargas Llosa, Julio Cortázar, and Pablo Neruda influenced GDR authors much earlier than BRD authors. Many German authors exiled to Latin America during the war brought their works with them when they returned to (East) Germany ("Trauer, Tropen und Phantasmen: Ver-rückte Geschichten aus der DDR," Literatur der DDR in den siebziger Jahren, ed. Peter Uwe Hohendahl and Patricia Herminghouse, Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1983, 193-223, 194, fn. 6). Hensel's 1991 novel Auditorium panopticum shares structures and themes with Morgner's Leben und Abenteuer der Trobadora Beatriz (1974), Mickel's Lachmunds Freunde (Part I, 1991; Part II, posthumously, 2006), and Braun's Hinze-Kunze-Roman. Some of Hensel's borrowings are discussed later in this chapter. Exploring further similarities would be fruitful, but exceed the scope of this study. Lyn Marven discusses how Morgner's Beatriz influenced Hensel and Kathrin Schmidt in their respective novels Auditorium panopticum and Die Gunnar-Lennefsen-Expedition (1998) in "The Trobadora's Legacy: Two Generations of GDR Women Writers," in Gender and Generation, ed. Adalgisa Giorgio and Julia Waters (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge Scholars P, 2007).

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After the Wende, both Braun and Hensel produced a plethora of satirical and grotesque texts in all genres. While some of Braun's texts have become more grotesque, however, Hensel's have become less so, her reaction to unification going against the general trend toward an increased use of the grotesque mode, perhaps in response to market demands, perhaps for more personal reasons. Braun's bitter unification poem "Das Eigentum," first published in August 1990 in the newspapers Neues Deutschland and Die Zeit, was cited repeatedly in the media and by scholars as a paradigmatic response to the loss of the GDR. Still conceived of as a socialist utopian project, the GDR, encapsulated in the authors' own past texts, was rendered "unverständlich" along with these earlier texts when the Wende led to the swift political move toward unification, according to Braun's poem.4 Two of his relatively short prose responses to the Wende, Bodenloser Satz (1990) and Die vier Werkzeugmacher (1996), depict the environmental destruction wreaked by the GDR coal mining industry, continuing after unification, and the degrading but also enlightening identity-recasting experiences of four GDR factory workers as they face unemployment after the Wende, respectively. The focus of this chapter, Der Wendehals (1995), juxtaposes several prose genres, including the monologue, dialogue, essay, and short story, to produce a montage of responses to unification, several of which display the grotesque mode. Hensel's first novel published after the Wende, Auditorium panopticum (1991), like Bernd Schirmer's Cahlenberg or Karl Mickel's Lachmund's Freunde is a further example of a text that was widely overlooked in the immediate postwall period. Because it was conceived in the late 1980s, I consider it a GDR novel and thus treat it in this chapter only briefly as a precursor to Hensel's postwall satirical novel Gipshut (1999). Hensel's first actual longer postwall prose text is the novella Tanz am Kanal (1994). Praised highly for its blending of the naïve gaze of a homeless woman and grotesque scenes that reckon with GDR language and social hierarchies, it illustrates the social descent and alienation of many Eastern Germans after the Wende. Tanz am Kanal does not receive prominent treatment in this study as it has been treated amply elsewhere5 and because its humorous distancing is largely canceled out by the narrator's sympathetic and defensive naïve gaze, incomplete search for her identity, and seriously narrated brutal victimization. Its defensive tone and identity quest bear affinities to the texts in Chapter 1 and to some of Ingo Schulze's stories, while its picaresque aspects overlap with the texts in Chapter 2. By contrast, Auditorium panopticum's fantastical, hyperbolic and parodic scenes _____________ 4 5

Volker Braun, "Das Eigentum," Die Zickzackbrücke. Ein Abrißkalender (Halle: Mitteldeutscher, 1992) 84; orig. Neues Deutschland 4/5 August 1990 and Die Zeit 33 (1990). See the bibliography 1.4.2 for a list of scholarly articles devoted to Tanz am Kanal.

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provoke fits of laughter, and Gipshut inhabits a space somewhere between the two. Hensel's brand of humor in Auditorium panopticum, Tanz am Kanal, and Gipshut, similar to Braun's in Der Wendehals, is Galgenhumor (gallows humor) and Schadenfreude (laughing when others incur harm). A few significant questions must be posed when discussing Der Wendehals and Gipshut within the wider Eastern German satirical trend, because they revitalize characters and themes that had already been treated in literary works from the previous decade or earlier. Why does Braun revert again to a character duality resembling Hinze and Kunze from his 1960s play Hans Faust, the Berichte von Hinze und Kunze (1983), and the Hinze-Kunze-Roman? Why does Hensel recycle her own and others' fairy tale figures, symbols, and narrative techniques, some of which pay homage to or parody the New Subjectivity and feminist movements of the late '60s and '70s? This recapitulation has led respected Eastern German authors and scholars to critique her novel, bemoaning among other things that she "bereitet [...] die Geschichte aber so fertig zu und auf, dass man zuweilen lustlos wie vor einem aufgewärmten Tiefkühlgericht sitzt, dessen Geschmack man vom letzten Mal zu kennen meint."6 Why does Hensel also create a male character who resembles Klaus from Helden wie wir and seems to "parody the parody" of a socialist ideologue? Exploring answers to these questions reveals how monumental historical events, but also an author's personal background, can influence her choice of subjects, as well as how tightly knit the Eastern German literary community remained in the 1990s, despite its change in status after 1989. As Eastern Germans turned largely to the news media, television, and film for information after the Wende, these authors lost their role as an essential Ersatzöffentlichkeit (a political alternative to the ideologically biased GDR media), functioning rather as a uniquely Eastern German aesthetic and subjective alternative to western media and literary models.7 Though differing superficially in genre and use of language, Der Wendehals and Gipshut both feature a multilayered application of the grotesque. This mode manifests itself in distorted human bodies, hedonistic indulgence in food or sex, and comically crude scenes depicting acts of physical violence. Both texts simultaneously cultivate and destroy the reader's expectations of character, genre, and language, which Carl

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Kathrin Schmidt, "Frühkindliche Infektion mit Gedrucktem. Ein konservatives Stück Text. Kerstin Hensels neuer Roman 'Gipshut'," Freitag 41, 8 October 1999, 17. See Patricia Herminghouse, "Literature as 'Ersatzöffentlichkeit'? Censorship and the Displacement of Public Discourse in the GDR," German Studies Review, supplement (1994): 85-99.

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Pietzker argued to be a central characteristic of this mode.8 Der Wendehals and Gipshut also both exhibit binary, seemingly dialectical constellations that in the end represent discordant philosophical worldviews and lifestyle choices. Der Wendehals foregrounds this binary structure with a dialogue between two characters, representing rational/humanist versus irrational/ capacious viewpoints, who appear absurd because of their mutual alienation from society and ironic inability to communicate with each other or with anyone else in the text. In this respect, they resemble other postwall Eastern characters like Sparschuh's Hinrich Lobek, Loest's Heinz Broeker, or Schulze's Ernst Meurer. Braun's new "odd couple" recycles and distorts the wildly satirical, experimental GDR novel, the Hinze-KunzeRoman. In Gipshut the bipolar consists of two parallel narratives with two characters each. In the first, a mother and son represent nature/simplicity versus the socialist system/ideological rigidity, which also prove unresolvable, regardless of the society in which they live. In the second, a male and female geology student overcome their binary gender conflicts to fall in love and work together to "save Germany" from an impending natural disaster in the late 1990s, only to lose their newly won utopian ideals for lack of funding to continue their scientific research. As in GDR texts of the New Subjectivity period, humanist ideals butt up against individual pleasure-seeking, and rational thought contrasts with irrational desire and the fantastic to produce grotesque bodies, languages, and narratives that amplify these conflicts. This chapter explores Braun and Hensel’s largely pessimistic views of the GDR and unified Germany, conveyed via a grotesque aesthetic. The first part summarizes applicable definitions of the grotesque and briefly surveys its traditions in West and East Germany that serve as a backdrop for the later discussion of Der Wendehals and Gipshut.

Defining the Grotesque In the late 1950s Wolfgang Kayser sparked a debate on the grotesque by tracing its genealogy from its Italian Renaissance (re)discovery in the form of ancient cave paintings up to its expression in mid-twentieth century literary texts, and by formulating a new, systematic theoretical definition. According to Kayser, the grotesque consists of fantastical distortion or extreme exaggeration that may appear sinister when physical objects blend _____________ 8

Carl Pietzker, "Das Groteske," Deutsche Vierteljahresschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte 45.2 (1971): 197-211, 200.

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with live creatures.9 Kayser also distinguishes between its artistic form and reception (180). Depicted in an artwork, the grotesque may take on a horrific or fantastical form that uses monsters or skeletons, or a lighter, more eccentric form, like that found in the commedia dell'arte, which relies on wordplays and buffoonery (46). Regarding its reception, both ominous and playful forms of the grotesque may appear without concrete signification, present an absurd, alienated picture of the world, or comment on specific societal ills as does satire (46, 189). Arnold Heidsieck, Carl Pietzker, and other scholars have reasserted this socially critical, satirical purpose of particular grotesque forms: "Nicht eine Laune der Natur gilt uns grotesk, sondern solche Entstellung, die das Schreckliche und Lächerliche auf die Spitze, zum unerträglichen Widerspruch treibt: die produzierte Entstellung des Menschen, die von Menschen verübte Unmenschlichkeit."10 Braun and Hensel both use the grotesque in horrific, satirical ways and in lighter, more amusing or comical ways, manipulating the human body, narrative, and language to convey social criticism and trauma, but also ecstatic experiences and reading pleasure. Their texts reflect what is perceived as a grotesque reality, and they distort this reality to express satirical critiques. Arguing against a reduction of the grotesque to satirical functions alone, the Russian scholar Mikhail Bakhtin, in his analysis of Rabelais's use of the grotesque in Gargantua et Pentagruel, concluded that it is "inadmissible to reduce to mere satire the entire substance of the grotesque image."11 Central to Bakhtin's argument is that the "satirical exaggeration of the negative" can only account for the quantitative, but not the qualitative aspects of any grotesque image. In Rabelais's and other authors' grotesque images of the body there exist both negative and positive interpretive possibilities. While the images themselves may, on the surface, appear ugly, horrific, or disgusting, in uniting the human body with physical objects belonging to the external world, Bakhtin avers, they can "uncrown" powerful institutions such as the Church and thereby "renew" them, restoring the lost duality of human beings and the world: "The grotesque conception of the body is interwoven not only with the _____________ 9

10 11

Kayser writes that the grotesque is "not only something playfully gay and carelessly fantastic, but also something ominous and sinister in the face of a world totally different from the familiar one – a world in which the realm of inanimate things is no longer separated from those of plants, animals, and human beings, and where the laws of statics, symmetry, and proportion are no longer valid" (The Grotesque in Art and Literature, trans. Ulrich Weisstein, New York: McGraw-Hill, 1966, orig. German edition 1957) 21. Arnold Heidsieck, Das Groteske und das Absurde im modernen Theater (Stuttgart, et. al.: Kohlhammer, 1969) 17. See also Pietzker 205-208. Mikhail Bakhtin, Rabelais and His World, trans. Hélène Iswolsky (Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1984) 307.

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cosmic but also with the social, utopian, and historic theme, and above all with the theme of the change of epochs and the renewal of culture" (Bakhtin 312, 324-5). Referring to group manifestations of the grotesque as the "carnivalesque," Bakhtin suggested that these unfettered group celebrations can abolish hierarchies, level social classes, and thereby create a new life free from conventional rules and restrictions. The grotesque, pleasure-seeking human body—fat and fleshy, eating, drinking, copulating, and defecating to excess—is the emblem of the carnivalesque.12 Volker Braun uses such a grotesque, uncontrollable body to critique mankind's insatiable quest for pleasure and entertainment, but also to remove this body from hegemonic forms of discourse and repressive, hierarchical social strata and mores. This uncontrollable body both repulses and fascinates the narrator, who finds himself gradually joining in the "fun" despite his initial skepticism. Kerstin Hensel's grotesque bodies can both symbolize and expose the artifices in social conventions and flaws in political ideologies, act out utopian erotic fantasies, and invoke a rich international cultural heritage. Kayser, Heidsieck, Pietzker, Bakhtin, and other scholars building on their work have derived their theories of the grotesque from the fine arts or from literary texts written either prior to World War II or by Western authors. In revisiting grotesque GDR texts emerging from the experiences of socialism and its dissolution, however, Lyn Marven's recent, muchneeded reconceptualization of this mode is helpful in that it takes into consideration their specific, socialist context. In her interdisciplinary study, Body and Narrative in Contemporary Literatures in German: Herta Müller, Libuše Moníkovà, and Kerstin Hensel, Marven melds the ground-breaking work of Kayser, Bakhtin, Pietzker, and others on the grotesque together with late twentieth-century feminist and psychoanalytic theories of hysteria (Irigaray), gender performance (Butler), and the body and language as sites of resistance against hegemonic discourse (Weigel, Butler, Kristeva).13 She thereby produces a new, synthesized definition that explains how the grotesque is employed specifically by authors born and raised in Eastern Bloc countries who have been displaced, either through exile or political upheaval. The three women authors whose works she analyzes all share the biographical experiences of repression, exile, and/or trauma, and give these experiences concrete literary expression in the form of hysterical and grotesque bodies, as well as grotesque narrative structures and language. Although she draws on feminist theories to construct her arguments, Marven intimates that the state appropriation not only of language and the _____________ 12 13

See also Robert Stam, Subversive Pleasures: Bakhtin, Cultural Criticism and Film (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1989) 86 and 93-4. Oxford: Clarendon, 2005. The Introduction surveys these theories informing her analyses.

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mind, but also of the body, in Eastern Bloc socialist regimes has frequently led to grotesque configurations in the literary works of Eastern Bloc authors, regardless of the authors' gender. Their grotesque aesthetic is rooted largely in the trauma of having lived in a repressive society: [The] disjunction of outward appearance and internal constructs, between deeds and thoughts, mirrors behaviour under repressive regimes; it is a symptom of trauma. Trauma is a means of conceptualizing the psychological structures which are formed in response to extreme conditions, structures which affect perceptions of the body as well as use of language and the concept of narrative. (Marven 8)

Breaking manifestations of the grotesque into three types: grotesque bodily forms, grotesque styles of narrative, and grotesque use of language, she demonstrates how depictions of "other" body types provide alternatives to, undermine, or subvert the totalitarian state's symbolic discourse (Marven 18). The body types she highlights are those that display trauma (a psychological state) in physical form, those that use the body to act out discontent, or those that represent the body as uncontrollable or disruptive of cultural signification. A narrative may appear grotesque when it becomes excessive or minimalistic, when it bursts expectations of genre, or when there is a dichotomy between the narrated event and the (inappropriate or unconventional) way it is narrated, as is the case with epic humor and with irony. Lastly, regarding the use of language, Marven demonstrates how metaphors can become literalized and syntax can break down so that the ability of language to refer to reality is undermined in grotesque texts (Marven 246). What Marven's conclusions mean for Braun and Hensel is that the grotesque bodies, narratives, and language in their works can be seen as a manifestation of trauma and as a breaking free from the confines of a totalitarian ideology, which in these authors' cases can be that of socialism or capitalism. What begins as a grotesque, hardline SED party functionary (Braun's Schaber or Hensel's Hans Kielkropf) becomes a more grotesque, but also tragic, "babbling idiot" after unification. These characters' and others' trauma derives from forced shifts in consciousness or identity, state appropriation of the protagonist's body or that of family members or friends, and the experience of psychological or physical violence. Both Braun and Hensel also break with genre conventions, blending several genres within their texts, leading the reader to a plethora of possible, sometimes equivocal interpretations of their characters' (or narrators') behavior and speech. In such cases, Wayne Booth's concept of unstable irony, a type of irony that elicits multiple potential interpretations, might be used to create a new term, the "unstable grotesque" (Booth 245-7).

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The Grotesque in Postwar West and East German Literature Since World War II many German-speaking authors have adopted the grotesque mode to depict the horrors of the Third Reich, the Cold War, and the mass migrations they induced. Examples of the grotesque in postwar West German literature include the personified river Elbe and ghastly dreams of the traumatized soldier Beckmann in Wolfgang Borchert's 1947 radio play Draußen vor der Tür, Oskar Matzerath's dwarfsized body and glass-shattering voice in Grass's Blechtrommel (1959), and Heinrich Böll's piranha-like depiction of the German media in Die verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum (1974). The Swiss author Friedrich Dürrenmatt declared the grotesque to be a fundamental structuring principle in his plays, reflecting moral conundrums and absurd situations like those that led to the development and deployment of the atomic bomb during the Second World War and the Cold War arms race (Die Physiker), as well as the mistreatment of others to acquire money or revenge (Besuch der alten Dame). Although such applications of the grotesque were controversial in German-speaking countries, these and other, similarly grotesque works found publishers and a wide audience, soon entering the German literary canon. One indication that the GDR leadership disproved of the grotesque aesthetic is the fact that some of these works and others like them, ranging from those by the early twentieth-century writer Franz Kafka to Günter Grass (Die Blechtrommel), did not receive approval to be published in the East until the 1980s. In the GDR authors and artists were discouraged from depicting socialist society or the human body as grotesque, because literature and art were supposed to depict either the positive, progressive sides of this society or an idealized future. In this respect, official socialist realist visual arts could be compared to National Socialist art: both frequently depicted strong, healthy bodies within settings that emphasized hard work and productivity.14 Whereas the National Socialists promoted images that invoked a strong, soldier-like vitality or an idyllic, rural harmony free from _____________ 14

See Peter Adam, Art of the Third Reich (New York: Abrams, 1992); Boris Groys, The Total Art of Stalinism: Avant-Garde, Aesthetic Dictatorship, and Beyond, trans. Charles Rougle (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1992); Linda Schulte-Sasse, Entertaining the Third Reich: Illusions of Wholeness in Nazi Cinema (Durham, NC: Duke UP, 1996); Richard A. Etlin, ed., Art, Culture, and Media Under the Third Reich (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2002); Uli Linke, German Bodies: Race and Representation after Hitler (Oxford, UK: Routledge, 1999); and "Kunst in der DDR. Eine Retrospektive der Nationalgalerie, Berlin, in Zusammenarbeit mit der Kunst- und Aussstellungshalle der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, Bonn," 2004, 23 July 2006 .

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what they perceived to be the corruption of the city,15 socialist realism promoted industrialization and the "Neuer Mensch" as the foremost indicators of progress. Furthermore, since the Marxist-Leninist philosophy was based on materialism (the analysis of economic and material realities) and a belief in the rational powers of human beings to influence their environment, and the grotesque represented irrational, uncontrollable physicality, it had no place within official socialist conceptions of art. The exceptions to this rule could generally only be found in depictions of war or of working class oppression. Of course, many artists did not conform to these dictates, but much of their abstract or grotesque work was produced unofficially and could be exhibited only gradually in larger museums or after 1989.16 According to socialist realist tenets, literary figures either had to be "positive heroes" or "types," embodying clearly identifiable pro-socialist (or anti-socialist) values. Mentally or physically ill, deviant, or selfdestructive individuals could be perceived as threats to the rational, progressive order and thus similar to the grotesque. Despite being discouraged in the GDR, however, politically incorrect images of the body, including the ill, the overworked, or the suicidal, began appearing there already in the early 1960s. The pro-socialist farmer Ole Bienkopp from Erwin Strittmatter's satirical novel Ole Bienkopp (1963) worked himself to a tragic, mucky death in a peat field, provoking a culturalpolitical controversy at the time for depicting an ambiguous protagonist who did not conform fully to the image of a socialist "positive hero." One can also point to the protagonists in the short stories from the prominent feminist anthology Blitz aus heiterem Himmel (1975) as examples of grotesque bodies in that they undergo physical and mental changes in being transformed from women to men or vice versa. More extreme forms of the grotesque—truly distorted, fantastical, sexually ecstatic, or violated bodies—also began to appear in the satirical, fantastic, or science fiction literature of the late 1960s and early '70s.17 Because of its _____________ 15 16 17

National Socialist artists and filmmakers created grotesque images mainly to demonize Jews and other "undesirables." "Kunst in der DDR" . See Sonja Fritzsche's Science Fiction Literature in East Germany 1949-1990 for a comprehensive overview and analysis of GDR science fiction authors and their works, which were frequently satirical, and often contained grotesque figures such as androids, robots, or aliens (Bern: Lang, 2006). Fritzsche writes that in the period following Honecker's anti-taboo speech of 1972 and Cultural Minister Kurt Hager's subsequent endorsement of allowing a greater variety of literature to be published, "many avant-garde authors turned away from objective realism to the subjective, the individual, the private and the idiosyncratic. This paralleled an increased toleration of fantastic literature in the GDR" (Fritzsche 165; Fritzsche cites David Bathrick's The Powers of Speech. The Politics of

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marginalization as Trivialliteratur, science fiction and fantastic literature genres afforded GDR authors an outlet for their creativity outside the confines of socialist realism. Sonja Fritzsche writes: Where previous science fiction writers had some type of background in the natural sciences, the pool of authors broadened during this period to include those more proficient in the humanities. Well-known authors, Günter Kunert, Anna Seghers, Christa Wolf, and, later, Franz Fühmann, published several science fiction stories and thus granted the genre added credibility. Looking for forms of expression beyond the existing socialist realist aesthetic these authors turned to science fiction as a way of gaining new narrative freedom. (Fritzsche 166-7)

Examples of grotesquely distorted or fantastical bodies within GDR science fiction can be found in the bestselling novels Die Ohnmacht der Allmächtigen by Heiner Rank and Unheimliche Erscheinungsformen auf Omega XI by Johanna and Günter Braun, both published in 1974.18 Two prominent examples of the move toward greater freedom in depicting alternative forms of human physicality or the fantastic, which coincided with the rise of more subjective texts and the Realism debates of the same period, are Günter de Bruyn's Buridans Esel (1968) and Irmtraud Morgner's Leben und Abenteuer der Trobadora Beatriz und ihrer Spielfrau Laura (1974).19 Buridans Esel was hailed as the first text to break the GDR taboo against depicting sexual intercourse explicitly in literary texts, thus paving the way for other authors to do the same.20 In her fantastical and experimental novels, Morgner pursued a highly engaged, _____________ 18

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Culture in the GDR, Lincoln and London: U of Nebraska P, 1995, 187). See also Nägele "Trauer" 193-4 and the sources he cites in footnotes 4 and 5. Fritzsche discusses the grotesque and uncanny humanlike, mutant races in these novels in Chapters 6 and 7 of Science Fiction Literature in East Germany. She points out that science fiction texts could be censored in the GDR and explains how Johanna and Günter Braun were forced to smuggle their pacifistic, anti-nuclear (thus also anti-Soviet) manuscripts in Christmas packages to the publisher Suhrkamp in the FRG by the l980s (Fritzsche 198-9). Beth Linklater's monograph "Und immer zügelloser wird die Lust": Constructions of Sexuality in East German Literatures is a valuable resource for exploring a wide range of constructions and theories of sexuality, identity, and the body in East German Literature in general, although it focuses mainly on texts by Irmtraud Morgner and Gabriele Stötzer-Kachold (Bern: Lang, 1998). See also Rainer Nägele, "Trauer, Tropen und Phantasmen" 193-223. Linklater supplies evidence that Buridans Esel marked the end of the GDR taboo against depicting sex openly in literary texts—not Honecker's famous 1971 speech calling for an end to taboos in GDR literature (38-39). "The speech was as much an endorsement of aesthetic developments which began in the 1960s as the signal of a new direction" (38). The erotic scene she quotes from de Bruyn may also be viewed as an example of a lyrical, ecstatic, and liberating carnivalesque image: "Zwei [wurden] eins, spürten einander, fügten sich ineinander, flossen ineinander, jauchzten, schrien miteinander, hatten endlich nicht mehr das Gefühl, nur Hälfte zu sein, wurden ein Ganzes" (Buridans Esel 110). Linklater emphasizes that the sexual rarely played a role in other GDR authors' works. Braun's Hinze-Kunze-Roman and several of Hensel's short stories are further exceptions to this rule.

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socialist-humanist political agenda, interweaving grotesque bodies (Beatriz is over 800 years old and otherwise larger-than-life) and varying language registers. Adopting the "operative montage" as a nonlinear and multigenre narrative structuring principle that forces the reader to seek links between the texts, she shuffles (auto)biographical sequences, the fantastic, actual scientific and historical texts, pleasurable and violent erotic scenes, and so forth. Her purposes for this choppy technique were to break up fixed concepts of the Marxist ideology, as well as patriarchal (and matriarchal) social structures, partner/sexual relations, language, concepts of history and time, and traditional narrative styles.21 The poets of the subcultural East Berlin Prenzlauer Berg scene and other Dichterkreise in many GDR towns and cities continued and expanded Morgner's, Braun's, Adolf Endler's and other forerunners' narrative and linguistic experimentation throughout the 1980s. Many of these young authors escaped censorship through self-publishing in small editions or sharing their works only in the company of their peers.22 In Aus der Staatsgegnerschaft entlassen. Katja Lange-Müller und das Problem humoristischer Schreibweisen in der ostdeutschen Literatur der Neunziger Jahre, Daniel Sich argues that the humorous literature of the 1990s is an extension of this subversive, creative experimentation within the GDR, but that its quirky, frequently confusing, complicated, or grotesque formats can detract from its literary quality or contribute to low readership.23 Paradoxically political and anti-socialist because of its apolitical nature, some representatives of this alternative scene put forth a decadent, formalist plea for the creation of art for art's sake. Never going quite this far and thus able to keep publishing in the GDR, Braun and Hensel nonetheless authored diverse texts in the 1980s that can be seen as culminations of this narrative and linguistic experimentation. Hensel's Auditorium panopticum, which was not published in the GDR, parodies the Morgnerian "operative montage" technique, but is entirely fictional and more grotesque in all respects, achieving both the pinnacle of this trajectory and its mocking inversion. Compared to Auditorium panopticum or the experimental works of GDR authors like Gabriele Stötzer-Kachold, Bert Papenfuss-Gorek, or Katja Lange-Müller, Der Wendehals and Gipshut may seem tame. _____________ 21

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Angelika Bammer, "Trobadora in Amerika," Irmtraud Morgner. Texte, Daten, Bilder (Frankfurt a.M.: Luchterhand, 1990), 196-205, 204 and Linklater 97-129. Morgner asserted throughout her life that she was a humanist, not a feminist, although her works have been viewed and interpreted as feminist writing (Linklater 71-95). It is now a well-known fact that Rainer Schedlinski and Sascha Anderson, among other Prenzlauer Berg poets, reported the group's activities to the Stasi, but this type of observation did not hinder this group or other groups from experimenting freely with otherwise forbidden, officially unpublishable poetic forms. Bern, et al.: Lang, 2003, 87.

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Nevertheless, the fact that Braun and Hensel have adopted a similar grotesque aesthetic in their post-Wende works begs the questions why and to what purpose they do so. In order to probe the critical functions of this aesthetic, their characters, narrative styles, symbols, and language are explored below. Because both texts are informed extensively by identifiable philosophical and literary precedents, these sources are also treated as in other chapters to facilitate a deeper understanding of the texts. Finally, since both authors build extensively on their own, earlier work in Der Wendehals and Gipshut, their previous, topically and formally related texts are also discussed: Braun's Hinze-Kunze-Roman and Hensel's Auditorium panopticum set the stage for their later works.

Volker Braun's Der Wendehals Braun (b. 1934), like most East German authors of international stature, took a critical stance toward the GDR and was persecuted by the Ministry of Culture. Though never imprisoned, he had several plays banned from public performance and struggled for four years in the early 1980s to have his Hinze-Kunze-Roman published.24 Initially prevented from pursuing a university degree because of his political activism, Braun first worked in a print shop, then in a coalmine, from 1958-59, until he was finally admitted to the Karl-Marx-Universität in Leipzig, where he earned a philosophy degree in 1964. Braun then moved to East Berlin, becoming a freelance author in 1967, but also working for several years as a dramaturge for the Berliner Ensemble and later the Deutsches Theater.25 Though acutely aware of contradictions between socialist ideology and real existing socialism, Braun professed loyalty to this ideology until the GDR was dismantled, to this day maintaining his residence in East Berlin. In the early '90s, he reconsidered his beliefs and eventually concluded that all prevailing ideologies are flawed. Though freeing himself from the adherence to any specific ideology, he maintains a strong, critical voice in his writing and still draws on socialist tenets as alternatives to capitalism.26 _____________ 24

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York-Gothart Mix documents Braun's publication battle, including reprints of the original Ministry of Culture briefs, scholarly secondary literature, and newspaper reviews, in his edited volume, Ein "Oberkunze darf nicht vorkommen." Materialien zur Publikationsgeschichte und Zensur des Hinze-Kunze-Romans von Volker Braun (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1993). The biographical information in this paragraph was excerpted from "Braun, Volker" in the Biographisches Handbuch der SBZ/DDR 1945-1990, ed. Baumgartner and Hebig, vol. 1, 81. Braun revealed this ideological shift to me in an unpublished interview I conducted with him in Rome at the Villa Massimo in June 1993.

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Der Wendehals, subtitled Eine Unterhaltung, targets a fictional former socialist party functionary who at first resembles Biskupek's Mario Zwintzscher in that he appears to have adapted easily to the newly established free-market economy by acting opportunistically, but who pushes his newly won freedom to the point of self-destruction. Referring to those Eastern German socialists who welcomed the free market system with open arms following the Wende, the word "Wendehals" (a bird species related to the woodpecker that can turn its head 180 degrees27) became widespread for its figurative meaning, "turncoat" or "opportunist," as well as for containing the word Wende. Instead of achieving happiness and success in postwall Germany like Biskupek's Mario or Ulbrich's Berni, however, Braun's protagonist ends up directionless and alienated. The longer he speaks to the text's unnamed narrator as they traverse the eastern half of Berlin, the crazier and more self-destructive he becomes. Being the symbolic and literal Wendehals of the book's title, he looks grotesque for his perpetual capaciousness and bouncing, rubber-like neck—a literalization of the metaphorical term "Wendehals"—that frequently gets stuck facing backwards. Braun's narrative is also grotesque, however, because of its disjointed, genremixing discourse and cabaret-like, condensed and multi-layered language. While critiques of capitalism and/or opportunists appear in much Eastern German satire, Der Wendehals stands out for its overdetermined philosophical complexity, which is grotesque because it is excessive. As in his other texts, Braun's fascination with philosophers like Descartes, Hegel, and Marx inform his text. Here, Braun also refers openly to two more recent thinkers, the sociologist Gerhard Schulze and the philosopher-economist Jon Elster, both of whose analyses of post-1945 Western obsessions with the pursuit of "experience" buttress Braun's critical messages, embodied in his literary figures. Literary sources for the narrative form, content, and characters of Der Wendehals include Denis Diderot's Le neveu de Rameau (Rameau's Nephew 1762), Miguel de Cervantes's Don Quixote de la Mancha (1605), and Bertolt Brecht's Flüchtlingsgespräche (1940-41) and Me-ti. Buch der Wendungen (1936-39).28 Because they influence his work strongly, these philosophical influences and intertextual references receive detailed excursions below. Der Wendehals is divided into two parts, Part I being a 102-page dialogue entitled "Der Wendehals oder Trotzdestonichts," and Part II _____________ 27 28

In English this bird is called a "wryneck." Diderot: Interpreter of Nature. Selected Writings, ed. and intro. Jonathan Kemp, trans. Jean Stewart and Jonathan Kemp (New York: International, 1938) 235–328; Don Quixote of the Mancha, trans. Thomas Shelton (New York: Collier, 1969); Flüchtlingsgespräche (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1961) and Me-Ti. Buch der Wendungen (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1965).

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consisting of seven short vignettes of two to four pages each, called "Die Fußgängerzone." As stated above, the eponymous "Wendehals" came to refer to the post-Wende "turncoat" or "opportunist." The compound word "trotzdestonichts," however, is nonsensical, and when translated becomes "despite so much nothing." Germans use the reverse form of this word, "nichtsdestotrotz," to mean "nevertheless" or "nonetheless," implying a continuing struggle despite low odds for success. Braun reverses the word's components, however, to convey the meaning "everything was in vain"—both the GDR's socialist experiment and the revolutionary attempt to pursue "den dritten Weg" during the Wende. This neologism also highlights the narrator's postwall existential dilemma as an unproductive and thus impotent author, as well as his companion's senseless efforts to lead what he mistakenly perceives to be a "capitalist" lifestyle, though he cannot succeed, because his view of this lifestyle is distorted. In striving incessantly to experience life, the latter negates his ability to experience it pleasurably.29 The book's subtitle, Eine Unterhaltung, refers to the text's dialogic format as a conversation and to the work as a whole as entertainment. This second meaning is self-reflexive and ironic. Since Braun intends his work to be a harsh critique of the opportunist as a type and of commodified entertainment under capitalism, calling his own text "entertainment" turns his critique inward. Braun ironically calls his own text the kind of entertainment he has his narrator speak out against. The conceptual and linguistic complexity, intertextuality, and social criticisms contained in the text counteract this claim, however, that the work should serve purely as entertainment. Based on its length, depth, and comparability in content with the other novels analyzed here, my interpretations of Der Wendehals focus mainly on Part I. In "Der Wendehals oder Trotzdestonichts," as in Loest's Katerfrühstück, the two protagonists represent two essentially different reactions to unification. The two figures bear the deceptively simple names "ICH" (I) and "ER" (HE). Whereas Braun also provides ER with a surname—Schaber—ICH remains unnamed throughout. ICH is an anonymous GDR intellectual, most likely an author, who ironically negates his life's purpose by beginning the book with the contradictory statement: "Wie gut, daß ich keine Bücher schreibe."30 He expresses disillusionment with the failure of the GDR's socialist experiment combined with disgust for the capitalist system's detrimental effects on society and the individual. ER/Schaber, an ex-socialist party functionary, _____________ 29 30

See my discussion of Gerhard Schulze and Jon Elster below. By having ICH claim that he does not write books, Braun distances himself from this fictional character, since Braun continues to write books in the wake of unification.

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is the "Wendehals" of the book's title. Once the director of the prestigious East German Akademie der Wissenschaften, following the GDR's demise he becomes an instructor at a Finanzakademie and an insurance salesman. Called to testify before a Western German commission whose task it was to determine whether or not Eastern German officials were guilty of having persecuted their colleagues or committing crimes in the name of the socialist ideology, Schaber fails to convince the commissioners of his innocence, despite his clever attempts to appease them. Beaten at his own opportunistic game—"auf dem Feld, auf dem er überlegen war"(10)—he undergoes a traumatic psychological transformation: "Seit dem Tag war ihm sein vorheriges Denken so vollkommen aus dem Kopf geblasen, daß man, je nachdem, meinen konnte, er habe den Verstand verloren oder er sei zu Verstand gekommen" (11). Because the capitalist system allows him to exercise new freedoms and pursue limitless possibilities for pleasure fulfillment, he embraces it eagerly, invoking horrific consequences. Perhaps Braun's decision not to provide his fictional author with a name is his way of holding up the author as an abstract ideal, a remnant of the past, who, as Braun asserts, "trotzdestonichts" (despite so much nothing) preserves the memory of unification's lost humanitarian ideals. The names ICH and ER also imply a subjective distinction between Self and Other, between internal and external perception and experience. Distinguishing between an ICH and an ER, Braun sets up boundaries between his protagonists that do not dissolve by the dialogue's conclusion. Its superficially dialectical form proves to be an unequal rhetorical duel in which Braun's fictional author functions as a morally superior foil to the opportunist Schaber. This interpretation of Der Wendehals first traces the roots of Braun's satiric prose style back to his pre-unification works, in particular his HinzeKunze-Roman, and points out a few similarities and differences in his societal critiques and the forms they take before and after the Wende. One of Braun's best-known and acclaimed texts, the Hinze-Kunze-Roman with its dialogic structure, innovative and humorous satirical critiques of real existing socialism, and binary yet interchangeable male characters, holds a major place within the long line of Braun's Hans Faust/Hinze-Kunze texts that culminates with Der Wendehals. Next, Braun's use of the grotesque and the absurd in Schaber's physical characteristics, behavior, and worldview are examined in detail. Arnold Heidsieck's conception of the grotesque as the artist's reflection of a reality s(he) perceives as grotesque and Linda Hill's expansion of the canonical definition of the absurd not to signify senselessness, but rather disjointed communication, help penetrate Braun's particular approach to satirical criticism here. Because the author's dense and complex language also serves to critique

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pre- and post-unification ideologies, the third section is devoted to its description and analysis. Deploying the grotesque to expose the destructive nature of the typical opportunist, along with Western mankind's post-1945 obsession with "experience," Braun integrates personality and speech discontinuities into his text to comment on the absurdity of his characters' perception of their post-Wende context. The frequent allusions to philosophical and literary precedents within ICH and ER's dialogue and the narrator/ICH's interjections are explored in the fourth section. In the final part the seven miniatures from Part II, "Die Fußgängerzone," are tied together in order to elaborate on their functions as independent texts and as epilogues to the longer dialogue. Reicarnating Hinze and Kunze?: The Origins of Braun's Satire Volker Braun's pre-unification works focused on GDR-specific issues such as "the relationship of the individual to a socialist collective, the nature of work and human needs, the interdependence of leaders and led, and the internal contradictions of socialist society and the possibilities for their solution," as well as broader political and philosophical questions ranging from how to achieve social justice to how to protect the earth from environmental destruction.31 While nearly all of his works written after the Soviet Union's suppression of the democratic movement in Prague in August 1968 are in one way or another critical of GDR and/or Soviet politics, not all of these works are explicitly satirical. His most overtly satirical work, famous because of its unusual form, content, and censorship history, is the Hinze-Kunze-Roman. Completed in 1981, but not published until 1985 because of its provocative, occasionally grotesque critiques, the novel has since served as a fascinating interpretive puzzle to scholars researching GDR literature in general and Volker Braun in particular.32 One main reason for the novel's complexity stems from the socio-historical context in which Braun lived during the early 1980s. Wilfried Grauert describes Braun's literary aesthetic at this time: Angesichts des Verfalls der realsozialistischen Gesellschaft und der Erosion ihrer Ideologie sowie ihrer Literaturprogrammatik bricht der Autor mit der Monosemietradition des Offizial-Diskurses (Dogmatismus des Marxismus-

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Wolfgang D. Elfe and James Hardin, eds., "Contemporary German Fiction Writers," Dictionary of Literary Biography, Second Series 75 (1988): 30-35, 31. Kai Köhler traces the Hinze-Kunze characters and Braun's evolving subject matter from their origins to the Hinze-Kunze-Roman (Volker Brauns Hinze-Kunze-Texte—von der Produktivität der Widersprüche, Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 1996). See the bibliography 1.2.2 for more sources devoted entirely, or in part, to the Hinze-Kunze-Roman.

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Leninismus, Modus der autoritativen Geltung). Dieser Bruch ergibt sich aus seiner neuen poetischen Konzeption, in der er Literatur radikal auf Subjektivität fundiert und das Konzept einer polyphonen Diskursivität entwickelt als Grundlage und Rahmen der literarischen Kommunikation.33

Since there are significant affinities between the Hinze-Kunze-Roman and Der Wendehals—not only in their subjectivity and polyphonic discursivity—an interpretation of Der Wendehals is enriched by taking Braun's earlier text into consideration. Though parallels exist between the two works, mainly in Braun's repeated dual character constellation, dense, philosophical yet playful language, and dialectical,34 dialogic approach, from the Hinze-Kunze-Roman to Der Wendehals Braun displays a movement toward greater abstraction, less conciliatory humor, and more extreme, grotesque depictions. These parallels indicate that Braun believes the dialectical, dialogic approach to be fruitful in analyzing any society, regardless of its underlying structure or ideology. The way his critiques have evolved suggest a more critical stance toward his post-unification situation than toward the GDR. Braun's Hinze and Kunze characters possess a long history, having appeared as central figures in several literary works beginning in the late 1960s. From the play Hinze und Kunze (written 1967-68, performed 1968 in Weimar under the title Hans Faust, published in various versions in 1973, 1975, and 1981 as Hinze und Kunze), to the Berichte von Hinze und Kunze (1983), and finally in the Hinze-Kunze-Roman, the characters and central topoi have metamorphosed along with Braun's changing perspective on GDR society. Nevertheless, [s]tabil dabei bleibt die Rollenzuweisung, der Widerspruch zwischen Führenden und Geführten, der aus den Verhältnissen der sozialistischen Staaten heraus

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Ästhetische Modernisierung in der DDR-Literatur: Zu Texten Volker Brauns aus den achtziger Jahren (Bremen: Institut für kulturwissenschaftliche Deutschlandstudien der U Bremen, 1992) 5. The term "dialectical" or "dialectics" has several meanings. Its traditional form, developed by the ancient Greeks, is simply "a method of inquiry and discovery through conversations or dialogues" that "stresses the importance of opposition." Here, it is important to have "the critical resistance of the interlocutor who offers a crucial test of one's convictions, who offers an impetus to reconsider, revise and reject inadequate views and seek better ones" (Ivan Soll, "The Dialectics of Self-Deception," Konzepte der Dialektik, ed. Werner Becker and Wilhelm K. Essler, Frankfurt a. M.: Klostermann, 1981, 147-164, 148). In its narrower configuration as "dialectical Materialism," it stands for the Marxist concept of history as progress: specifically, as societal contradictions that clashed and inevitably pushed society forward from feudalism to capitalism and should lead from capitalism to communism. See the entry "Dialektik" in the Philosophisches Wörterbuch, 10th rev. and exp. ed., ed. Georg Klaus and Manfred Buhr, vol. 1 (Leipzig: VEB Bibliographisches Institut, 1974) 269-275. The latter definition became obsolete with the fall of communism; therefore, I refer to the former in designating Braun's work as dialectical or not. This definition is broad enough to include, but not be limited to, Hegelian implications of a dialectic built on thesis and antithesis.

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entwickelt wird und erst in den spätesten Werken der Textgruppe auf die kapitalistische Gesellschaft bezogen wird. (Köhler 7)

While Hans Faust/Hinze und Kunze represents Braun's attempt to transport Goethe's Faust to a GDR context, and the Berichte von Hinze und Kunze closely resemble Bertolt Brecht's Flüchtlingsgespräche, Keunergeschichten, and Me-Ti. Buch der Wendungen, Braun loosely based the Hinze-Kunze-Roman on Denis Diderot's experimental eighteenth-century novel Jacques le fataliste et son maître. Hegel's idea of the relationship between "Herr" (master) and "Knecht" (servant) from the Phänomenologie des Geistes stands as the fundamental philosophical premise underlying all of these literary explorations. Hegel writes of the dependency of the master on the servant and vice versa: "was der Herr gegen den Andern tut, er auch gegen sich selbst, und was der Knecht gegen sich, er auch gegen den Andern tue."35 With his Hinze-Kunze figures, Braun explores the dynamic of this relationship in the GDR. The Hinze-Kunze-Roman is the satirical culmination of the HinzeKunze topos. Like Der Wendehals, the Hinze-Kunze-Roman delves into the relationship of two men to one another and to their social environment. Through these two characters Braun reflects on the nature of power and its influence on human relationships, as well as the effects of these relationships on GDR society. Kunze is a GDR party functionary to whom Schaber bears a striking resemblance,36 and Hinze is his chauffeur. As Hinze drives Kunze to SED party meetings and social events, the two men discuss the novel's central question of whether or not their thoughts and actions coincide with socialist political and ideological expectations. Kunze in particular suffers from guilt because, although born to a working-class family, he now holds an elite governmental position that separates him from this class, and because he cannot refrain from acting out his flamboyant sexual fantasies. An omniscient narrator, integrated into the narrative both as the text's author and as a further character, occasionally interacts with Hinze and Kunze while describing and _____________ 35 36

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, Phänomenologie des Geistes, ed. Johannes Hoffmeister (Hamburg: Meiner, 1952) 147. Schaber appears to be a more extreme version of Kunze. Both men are hedonists who possess the chameleon-like ability to change their personalities and physical appearances depending on the circumstances. In the Hinze-Kunze-Roman Braun writes, for example: "Kunzes Leib belebte sich [wenn er eine attraktive Frau erblickte], er umschlang den Vordersitz, aus seinem Schädel rappelte sich ein anderer Kopf heraus, mit weit offenen Augen, mühelos fröhlichem Mund, von Jugendfarbe übergossen. Sein Kinn ruckte immer wieder vor, eine befehlsgebende Körperschaft, der Hinze, in den Rückspiegel lugend, ergeben unterstand"[8-9]). The main difference between the two is that whereas Kunze is simply too strongly tempted by women and sex to listen to his superego, which the socialist ideology represents and his position as a government official demands of him, Schaber is truly mentally ill.

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commenting on the pair's conversations and experiences. This narrator calls into question his own perspective on the events he describes by claiming: "Ich begreife es nicht, ich beschreibe es" (HKR 7).37 Braun's motivations in writing the Hinze-Kunze-Roman were multifaceted: to explore the Hegelian master vs. servant relationship as it is played out on an interpersonal level, but also to reveal the "classless" GDR society as a contradiction in terms. His characters have set roles on the surface (as functionary and chauffeur), but, by virtue of their individual personalities and desires, these roles become eroded, implying that set societal power structures are never as clear-cut as they may appear. Embedded in a "socialist utopia," where all citizens were supposed to work together for the common good ("im gesellschaftlichen Interesse," as Braun repeats 31 times throughout the novel), their relationship demonstrates that these individual personalities and desires, in particular, Kunze's hedonism and Hinze's laziness and apathy, contribute to the general stagnation in which the GDR's Marxist "revolution" found itself by the late 1960s and early '70s. Braun culls several themes from the Hinze-Kunze-Roman and recasts them in Der Wendehals. Each text features two main characters with different backgrounds, professions, and worldviews, who interact in lengthy dialogues. One major similarity between the two pairs is that in each case, while traveling around East(ern) Berlin, the role each man assumes flip-flops ambiguously from leader to follower. Kunze, as party functionary "leader," values Hinze's opinions as a representative of the "Volk" and occasionally encourages him to take charge of the situation: KUNZE: Vielleicht sollten wir die Plätze tauschen? HINZE: Und heute habe ich dich gefahren, morgen fährst du mich und ich walte deines Amtes? KUNZE: Das könnte mir so passen! (HKR 159)

Throughout the novel Braun emphasizes their interdependency: "was auch immer heruntergespült wurde, Kunzes Erfolge waren nicht denkbar ohne Hinze, Hinzes Erfolge nicht ohne Kunze" (HKR 158). Although ICH in Der Wendehals, playing the role of first-person narrator, holds a position superior to Schaber's, possessing the dominant voice in the text and an apparent ethical superiority, he alternately leads and follows Schaber and listens intently to the man's warped discourse. While the two pairs differ in individual characteristics, the names Braun assigns to them also reflect a move toward further abstraction in the latter work. "Hinze" and "Kunze," German equivalents of the English _____________ 37

Here and throughout this section page numbers from the Hinze-Kunze-Roman will be marked "HKR." These numbers correspond to the 1985 Suhrkamp edition.

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generic names "John Doe" or "Tom, Dick, and Harry," represent the average citizen, a kind of "everyman," but they are still actual surnames and thus equivalent to each other; ICH and ER imply a subjective distinction between Self and Other, between internal and external perception and experience. Distinguishing between an ICH and an ER, Braun sets up a stricter boundary here between his two protagonists. The Hinze-Kunze-Roman and Der Wendehals also both display a modernist, disjointed narrative style, even though the Hinze-Kunze-Roman is, as its title suggests, a novel, and Der Wendehals takes the form of an "Unterhaltung," or a spoken dialogue resembling a radio play. Each text's anticlimactic plot is also episodic in structure, beginning in medias res and ending without closure. Similar to the way the fictional narrator in the Hinze-Kunze-Roman interrupts the novel to comment on characters and events, either the fictional author-figure or an external narrator interjects sporadic, short commentaries throughout the text of Der Wendehals. Braun labels his Hinze-Kunze text a novel because it focuses on the main characters' private thoughts, discussions, and lives. In secondary texts, however, Braun himself and the literary historian/delegated GDR Minister of Culture Klaus Höpcke have also referred to the Hinze-KunzeRoman as an essay, since in the novel, like in a formal essay, Braun proposes arguments concerning GDR society without claiming that his treatment is definitive or even completely comprehensible ("begreiflich").38 The acknowledged inventor of the essay genre, Michel de Montaigne, proposed in his Essais (1580) that this genre be a means of "trying out" (in French "essayer") arguments or ideas (Baldick 75). Significantly, Braun selected a quote from Montaigne's Essais as the first of two mottos for the title page of Der Wendehals. Although the Montaigne quote ("Weiß man, ob nicht das menschliche Geschlecht seine Albernheit begeht, weil ihm irgendein Sinn fehlt?") conveys the idea that the human race acts in silly ways because it lacks meaning or sense, implying that the absurdities in Braun's text reflect humanity's generally absurd, existential situation, the reference to Montaigne also points to the essayistic tradition into which Braun places Der Wendehals. The text's dialogic structure, as well as the ICH-narrator's questioning stance toward postwall Eastern German society and toward Schaber's excessive behavior, designate it as a further attempt on Braun's part to explore, but not provide definitive answers to, questions pertaining to human existence and experience. _____________ 38

This definition of an essay was taken from Chris Baldick's Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms (75). In his critique of the Hinze-Kunze-Roman, Klaus Höpcke writes: "Ich halte Volker Brauns eigene Genrebestimmung der vorliegenden Arbeit für stichhaltig: gesprächsweise nannte er den HINZE-KUNZE-ROMAN einen komischen Essay" ("Ein komischer Essay Volker Brauns," Die Weltbühne 33 (1985): 1036-1039, 1037).

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Braun's structuring principle is reflected in the way his characters interact, which unravels as the dialogue continues. Near its end ICH finally loses patience with Schaber after he misinterprets ICH's attempts to escape from him and, instead of taking the cue ICH gives him and leaving, quotes §209 from Hegel's Philosophy of Right: "Es gehört dem Denken, daß Ich als allgemeine Person aufgefaßt werde, worin Alle identisch sind" (81). Further: "Wie der Mensch die Welt anblickt, so sie ihn...und insofern er sie vernünftig anblickt, gestaltet sie für ihn sich vernünftig" (81). At this point ICH realizes that there is no way to reason with Schaber since the man does not reflect on what he says but rather insists on quoting passages from Hegel like a child who has memorized a poem but does not understand its content, or "als gelte es, in Berlin die Rede zum Antritt des Lehramts zu halten" (81). With dismay ICH concludes: Wir reden aneinander vorbei, an der Welt vorbei [...] Ich sprach von meinen Bedürfnissen als seiende Einzelheit, Schaber. Daß selbst diese meine gemeinsten Funktionen nicht zunichte werden, sondern Wirklichkeit haben, geschieht durch das allgemeine erhaltende Medium, durch die Macht des ganzen Volks. Er sieht mir offenen Mundes nach, als dämmerte es wieder, aber ich bin in Wirklichkeit weit von ihm entfernt und kann mich mit mir selbst unterhalten. (81-82)

Here, Braun emphasizes the futility of ICH and ER's exchange, which derives from the fact that Schaber truly is insane. Thus, the entire interaction becomes a symbolic negation of Hegel's dialectic: thesis plus antithesis no longer equal synthesis, but rather result in irreconcilable differences. Jörg Magenau assesses this unprogressive dialectic: Der Dialog ist die Form des Dialektikers. Jeder Satz ruft eine Antwort hervor. Das Denken ist in Bewegung, und wenn etwas wahr ist, dann stimmt das Gegenteil vielleicht auch. Bereits im Hinze-Kunze-Roman hatte Braun die Gesprächsform perfekt zu nutzen verstanden. Und auch im Wendehals ist sie der Motor, der die Betrachtungen in Gang hält. Bloß: sie führt nirgends mehr hin. Die Dialektik ist nur noch ein Spiel, eine vergnügliche Geselligkeit. Lange genug haben wir versucht, die Welt zu verändern. Jetzt kommt es darauf an, sie zu interpretieren.39

As in the Hinze-Kunze-Roman the dialogic format has the potential to function dialectically, but here, as in an amusing game, though it conveys each character's divergent sociopolitical and philosophical worldviews, it is primarily intended to be understood as a form of play. A further similarity between the Hinze-Kunze-Roman and Der Wendehals is the fact that Braun uses Diderot as the basis for the narrative styles, character pairs, and the dialectic/dialogic structure in each. For the _____________ 39

"Stellwerk des Augenblicks. Ein unterhaltsames Werk über die Wendezeit: Volker Brauns Unterhaltung 'Der Wendehals'," Freitag. Extra zur Leipziger Buchmesse 24 March 1995, 17.

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former, the model was Jacques le fataliste et son maître40; for the latter, it is Le neveu de Rameau. The structure of Der Wendehals copies that of Rameau's Nephew by beginning with the "I" character describing the "he," the two characters then meeting by chance in a public place,41 and, finally, the two carrying on a lengthy philosophical conversation which fills approximately 90 printed pages. The ICH and ER characters in Der Wendehals also resemble the "Moi" (I) and "Lui" (he) from Rameau's Nephew. ICH and "Moi" are both reflective, intellectual, and morally enlightened characters, while ER/Schaber and "lui"/Rameau are eccentric hedonists. Diderot describes Rameau in his dialogue thus: He is a mixture of fineness and baseness, of good sense and folly. Ideas of right and wrong must be strangely confused in his head; for he displays his natural good qualities without ostentation and his bad ones without shame. He is endowed, moreover, with a vigorous constitution, a rare imaginative fervour and an uncommonly powerful pair of lungs. If ever you meet him, and you are not stopped by his eccentricity, either you will put your fingers in your ears or you will run away. […] Nothing can be more unlike him than he is himself at times. Sometimes he is thin and haggard, like a sick man in the last stages of consumption […]. The month after, he is plump and stout, as if he had been a constant guest at a financier's dinner-table […]. He lives from day to day: sad or merry according to circumstances. His first care in the morning, as soon as he is up, is to find out where he is to dine; after dinner, he thinks where to get supper […]. I have no high opinion of such eccentrics. Some people accept them as familiar acquaintances, even as friends. Once a year they engage my interest when I meet them, because their character is in violent contrast with that of other people, and they break the tedious uniformity introduced by our education, our social conventions, our customary notions of propriety. If one such person appears in a gathering, he acts like a grain of yeast that starts a fermentation, and restores to everyone part of his natural individuality. He shakes and stirs up people; he calls forth approval or blame; he brings out the truth; he shows one which are honest folk, and unmasks rogues. It's then that a man of sense listens and learns to distinguish between people. (Diderot: Interpreter of Nature 237)

Braun's Schaber also resembles Rameau in that he "unites good sense and folly" and lives from day to day, with no higher goals than to pursue pleasure, eat fine food, and so forth. Both characters unite the qualities of what Don Handelman calls the "symbolic clown type."42 This type is "composed of sets of contradictory attributes: sacred/profane, wisdom/folly, solemnity/humor" and hence _____________ 40 41 42

For a detailed comparison of Jacques le fataliste et son maître and the Hinze-Kunze-Roman see Claudia Albert, "Diderots 'Jacques le fataliste et son maître' als Modell für Volker Brauns 'Hinze-Kunze-Roman'," Jahrbuch der deutschen Schillergesellschaft 33 (1989): 384-396. ICH and Schaber meet in a pedestrian zone; Moi and Rameau meet in a popular Paris café. Models and Mirrors: Towards an Anthropology of Public Events (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1990) 240.

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inhabits a boundary space, perpetually moving back and forth between these contradictory characteristics (Handelman 242). As such, it "evokes inconsistencies of meaning, referential ambiguities, and inconstancy and uncertainty"—all characteristics that the grotesque mode can display, as well (Handelman 242). Although the function of the symbolic clown is to comment on transformation, he himself is closed to negotiability, autonomous, and therefore unable to participate fully in the give-and-take of daily interaction (Handelman 244).43 Thus, ICH and Schaber's conversation can never be truly dialectical, if a dialectical conversation of necessity requires two opposing viewpoints: Schaber's flip-flopping of roles and attitudes makes him too slippery to serve as a true oppositional partner. In creating and maneuvering Schaber as a grotesque and symbolic clown type, Braun spurns the transformations brought about by unification, playing with and overturning conventions, without assuming responsibility for the results; the clown with his ambiguous nature can comment on but never fully enter into any fixed category of social reality. As in the Hinze-Kunze-Roman, Braun here resorts to a type of satire that belongs to the grotesque end of the humor spectrum, but the tone of his grotesque critiques differs in each work. Hans-Peter Klausenitzer describes the humor in the Hinze-Kunze-Roman as arising "aus dem enttäuschten Blick des Autors, mit dem er das sozialistische Ideal als Maskerade durchschaut."44 Although Braun, mediating his own views via the fictional author-narrator in the Hinze-Kunze-Roman, is disappointed in the GDR's leaders and citizens for not striving harder to achieve Marx's communist ideals, he does not dismiss his characters as intolerable members of society. He portrays them satirically, but also sympathetically. Contributing to this conciliatory impression is the repeated reference to Hinze and Kunze as a pair that sticks together. The very first sentence in the novel is the question: "Was hielt sie zusammen?" The novel answers this question by emphasizing Hinze and Kunze's common interest in society. This dominant theme of unity or togetherness permeates the text, finding its most obvious expression in Braun's vocabulary: "miteinander" (7, 8), "zusammengenäht" (7), "beisammen" (10), "[d]ie Gemeinsamkeit, das Figurenensemble, die Menschengemeinschaft" (10-11), "[z]usammen" (22). Such words, strewn throughout the text, emphasize the group identity of GDR citizens in working toward common socialist goals: "was auch immer heruntergespült wurde, Kunzes Erfolge waren nicht denkbar ohne Hinze, Hinze's Erfolge nicht ohne Kunze" (HKR 158). In Hinze's _____________ 43 44

Handelman also describes this clown type as isolated and nearing the inhuman. He refers to it as "the state of the Mad in the everyday" (245). "Das undefinierbare Ding. Volker Brauns Hinze-Kunze-Roman." Deutschland Archiv 12 (1985): 1348-1351, 1349.

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wife Lisa's eyes, the two eventually blend into one male figure, whom she calls "Hinzeundkunze" (HKR 144-145). Later, Kunze offers this compound name as the answer to Hinze's question about what to call the fact that in the GDR socio-economic inequalities between leaders and common citizens persisted. Even the fictional narrator refers to himself with the plural pronoun "wir," thereby emphasizing his membership in the group and incorporating the reader into the text, as well. This feeling of community does not exist between ICH and Schaber in Der Wendehals. Here, the humor arises from the incongruity between the author-figure/ICH, who is disappointed with capitalist society for not displaying utopian ideals, and Schaber, who enthusiastically engages in hedonistic, grotesque behavior, which he associates with capitalism. What holds these two figures together is not a Hinze-and-Kunze camaraderie, but rather ICH's curiosity about Schaber's mental state and approach to life: "ich bin des Diskutierens müde, und wie die Dinge liegen, ist ihnen nicht mit raschen Texten aufgeholfen. Man muß sie am Leibe erfahren... und sehn, ob er [Schaber] sich wohlbefindet, oder zerrissen wird" (21-22). ICH accompanies Schaber in order to determine whether Schaber's new "say 'yes' to life" attitude will prove fruitful or self-destructive. Braun's tactic of having ICH follow Schaber in pursuit of experience resembles Sancho Panza's relationship to Don Quixote. Franz Kafka's description of the two men's relationship in his parable "Die Wahrheit über Sancho Pansa" serves perhaps best to illustrate its nature: Sancho Pansa, der sich übrigens dessen nie gerühmt hat, gelang es im Laufe der Jahre, durch Beistellung einer Menge Ritter- und Räuberromane in den Abendund Nachtstunden seinen Teufel, dem er später den Namen Don Quixotte gab, derart von sich abzulenken, dass dieser dann haltlos die verücktesten Taten aufführte, die aber mangels eines vorbestimmten Gegenstandes, der eben Sancho Pansa hätte sein sollen, niemandem schadeten. Sancho Pansa, ein freier Mann, folgte gleichmütig, vielleicht aus einem gewissen Verantwortlichkeitsgefühl, dem Don Quichotte auf seinen Zügen und hatte davon eine grosse und nützliche Unterhaltung bis an sein Ende.45

As Schaber experiences the world, ICH experiences Schaber, whom he perhaps invented for this purpose: "Ich unterhalte mich lieber, mit mir oder, wenn ich gerade abwesend bin oder verdrossen, mit einem zufälligen Passanten...der somit notwendig wird. Warten wir ab" (7). Schaber certainly resembles the "Teufel" whom Pansa let loose on the world, but he may also represent ICH's alter-ego or his previously repressed desires, now unfettered by the Wende. _____________ 45

Parables and Paradoxes, trans. Willa and Edwin Muir (New York: Schocken, 1961) 178. The Muirs translated Kafka's texts into English, but they provide the German version as well.

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Eventually, ICH concludes that Schaber's lifestyle is shameful and repulsive: "Ich möchte mich für ihn einsetzen, aber ich schäme mich, in der vertrauten Umgebung" (49). Halfway through their adventures, ICH ceases to care what happens to Schaber in his madness: "Er [Schaber] ist mir einmal vollkommen gleichgültig"(63). Toward the text's end, ICH decides "[h]ier will ich mich endlich befreien; ich benutze den Exkurs, um mich zu distanzieren und den Verrückten loszuwerden" (80). While the reader will most likely identify with ICH because of his role as mediator between the reader and Schaber, Braun's use of the grotesque in his descriptions of Schaber's personality, physical appearance, and behavior, discussed in greater detail below, discourages the same kind of identification with Schaber. The Hinze-Kunze-Roman and Der Wendehals, one pre- and the other post-Wende, contrast GDR feelings of togetherness with capitalist alienation.46 One further significant difference between Braun's pre- and postWende works can be seen in the socially critical roles he attributes to women. In his plays Die Kipper (1972), Hinze und Kunze (1973), and Tinka (1975; see the secondary figure Helga), as well as in the Hinze-Kunze-Roman Braun portrays strong female characters who offer "an alternative means of social progress to that offered by the main character(s)" and can "exercise an educational and inspirational influence on the men."47 In particular, his figure Lisa from the Hinze-Kunze-Roman embodies his hope for the future of GDR society. Lisa not only educates herself, accepting an employment position requiring her to take on responsibility, she also bears a child and still finds the strength to leave both Hinze, her husband, and Kunze, who briefly became her lover. In rejecting such losers,48 she serves as a model for all women and GDR citizens to take the initiative to improve their lives and thereby to improve society. Hinze and Kunze support her and the other women in the book in the struggle to raise their socio-economic and/or intellectual position, agreeing that in the GDR: dies war entschieden neu: diese Stellung der Frau, die in keinem Bilderheftchen beschrieben ist. Sie war keine Magd mehr, sie war so gut ein Mann wie jeder in

_____________ 46 47 48

Returning from a diplomatic trip to West Germany, Kunze remarks that although, "wenn der ökonomische Zwang wegfällt, ich meine unter unsern Bedingungen, könnte man manche Freiheit übernehmen," capitalism remains "[d]as nackte Geldgeschäft" (HK 92). Jonathan Dart, "The Death of a Provocateuse: Some Thoughts on Volker Braun's Tinka," GDR Monitor 20 (Winter 1988/89): 65-79, 75. Though Braun depicts Hinze and Kunze as somewhat likeable figures, to Lisa both are "losers." Hinze disappoints her by not meeting her emotional or physical needs. He also acquiesces to Kunze's lecherous advances, which lead to their (Lisa and Kunze's) affair. Kunze soon disappoints Lisa for similar reasons as Hinze had, however, by treating their relationship as a sexual affair and not meeting her emotional needs or desire for stability.

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der Planung, sie wurde gefördert zu ihrem Glück. Ein Liebesdienst, bei dem die Sozietät unendlich zu gewinnen hatte. (40)

In Der Wendehals, however, Braun relegates women to secondary roles. They appear more as symptoms of their societal condition than as central protagonists, being excluded from ICH and ER's dialogue and only shown shunning him, because they recognize his reckless opportunism. ER's wife, Gertraude, has thrown him out of their apartment and will no longer open the door to speak to him when he knocks (34-36); the prostitutes to whom ER tries to sell life insurance beat him up (52-55); and the statue of St. Gertraude, whom ER briefly worships like the Creator Herself, is, in the end, just a man-made bronze replica of a long-dead saint (63-65). Having no positive presence in the fictional world Braun creates in Der Wendehals, these female figures can have no positive agency. They only serve to represent forces that recognize ER as the beast he is and reject him. The type of agency Braun grants to women here is that of reaction rather than of action. Standing in front of Schaber's apartment door, Braun has ICH and ER/Schaber discuss the subjugated, menial role women play in the home and in society: ICH Deine Arbeit, sie nimmt sie dir ab. Sie verwöhnt dich, wie. ER So gesehen, ja. Der Tageskram. ICH Wir haben damit nichts zu tun. Die Frauen—sind die Instanz für die Probleme. ER Sie kennen sie. Erst recht, wenn sie zuhause bleiben. ICH Sie sind fürs Praktische. Sie müssen in den Dreck. ER [...] Wir haben sie immer betrogen. Im Vertrauen, Anwalt. Die Welt, die wir erhofften, hat sie nicht gebraucht. Eine Welt ohne die Weiber. Betrogen, sage ich [...]. ER Eine Welt ohne Probleme. Sie waren keins. Wir haben sie gefördert... mitgenommen. Geschenke, Zugeständnisse, der Haushaltstag. Konzessionen, an eine fremde Macht. Wir haben sie behalten. ICH Unbedingt. ER Vergessen wir sie. Die Weiber der Welt, jetzt zurückgelassen, lugen aus ihren Buchten. (34-35)

Here, Braun satirically depicts ICH and ER engaging in sexist dialogue, reflecting on the way men have treated and continue to treat women, and concluding that a woman's place is in the home, cleaning up dirt, forgotten. Consigned to this position, women can no longer represent hope and regeneration for society. Paradoxically, ICH calls them "die Instanz für die Probleme" ("authority in charge of problems"), yet this "Instanz" does not afford them power in a male-dominated society. Through unification, and within a capitalist society, they have, according to Braun in this text, effectively been "put back in their places"—either as wives, prostitutes, or worshipped bronze deities. In the post-Wende

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context, Braun's exclusion of women represents a further denunciation of the capitalist system for discouraging women from assuming active roles. Even if the GDR was also not perfect in this respect, on both a rhetorical and a practical level major achievements were made to establish equal rights for women there.49 Whereas Lisa in the Hinze-Kunze-Roman represents an escape from the static binary power relationship between Hinze and Kunze, such an escape is not presented in Der Wendehals. Drawing comparisons between Braun's pre- and post-Wende prose satires highlights significant continuities and discontinuities. Continuities can be found in Braun's use of the dialogic format and character duality. This dialogic approach is well-suited to Braun's dialectic method of pointing out societal and interpersonal problems in ever-changing contemporaneous contexts. Though he had freed himself from the socialist ideology by the time he wrote Der Wendehals, his analytical, dialogic writing style is still informed by Hegelian/Marxist methodology. His movement toward greater abstraction, less conciliatory humor, and the grotesque indicate that he has observed the capitalist society to be less conducive to developing feelings of togetherness and respect for one's fellow man than the GDR's socialist one had been. Schaber's Grotesque and Absurd Traumatized Body In Der Wendehals Braun creates the fantastical figure Schaber ("ein ganz Verrückter" [11]) to attack a specific human type—the self-serving opportunist—within the postwall German context. Like Cervantes, who demonstrated Don Quixote's knightly quest for adventures to be a delusion, Braun shows Schaber's interpretation of capitalist freedoms, as a perpetual, empty quest for adventures and "Spaß," to be a mirage. However, Schaber's disjointed communication and lack of higher purpose also render his existence absurd. Although scholars like Arnold Heidsieck and Carl Pietzker make a discrete terminological distinction between the grotesque and the absurd, the grotesque performing interpretable functions and the absurd highlighting the general senselessness of life, Braun blends these modes in the character of Schaber so that he embodies both grotesque societal criticisms and existential absurdity. How he serves Braun's satirical purposes and comes to inhabit both modes is the subject of this section, which begins with a discussion of his traumatized body. _____________ 49

See Helen H. Frink, Women after Communism: The East German Experience (Lanham, New York, Oxford: UP of America, 2001).

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Braun's attacks on post-Wende opportunism begin with Schaber's grotesque physical form. Although Schaber, as a businessman-type, is "fein gekleidet, gebürstet und gebräunt" and walks around "stolz wie ein Banker" (9), ICH also describes him when he grins as "gespenstisch," "wahrhaftig wie ein Gestorbener, dem nur die eine Grimasse bleibt" (14). Being the "turn-throat"50 of the book's title, Schaber's neck has literally acquired the ability to turn 180 degrees, most likely after his traumatic interrogation by the Western German commission that determined he was guilty of having committed political crimes in the GDR. ICH describes Schaber's condition thus: "Ich gehe umher, und wie ich mich eben herumwende, sehe ich, wie sich auch mein Hintermann herumgewandt hat und statt, wie erwartet, den Kopf wieder zurückzudrehen, mit so verrenktem Halse fortmarschiert" (9). Further, "[u]nsereinem hätte es die Luftröhre zugedrückt, er aber vermag volltönend fortzusetzen. Es ist wahr, er hatte sich oft die Lehrmeinung im Mund herumgedreht, aber nie um 180 Grad" (70-71). Schaber's head remains this way until a violent encounter with a group of bureaucrats from the Treuhand, whom ICH describes as Neonazis, knock it loose again (ICH: "Na, alles wieder eingerenkt? [72]). It soon bounces back around, however: "ich könnte sitzen bleiben, wenn Schaber nicht, verächtlich, in die andere Richtung liefe, weil er verdreht ist" (80).51 Schaber's contortions brand him physically as a "Wendehals," marking his opportunistic worldview on his body, which speaks a grotesque and traumatic "Körpersprache" like Klaus's initially tiny but later expanding penis in Brussig's Helden wie wir represents Klaus's similarly traumatized but expanding ego.52 Schaber's physical appearance and demeanor are more bizarre, ridiculous, and creepy than Klaus's, however, because they are even more impossibly exaggerated and they are constantly visible in the public sphere. He possesses the ludicrous as well as the darker, demonic qualities Wolfgang Kayser and Lee Byron Jennings ascribe to the grotesque.53 _____________ 50 51 52

53

Although a "Hals" can be either a "neck" or a "throat," and Schaber turns his neck, not his throat, since the figurative meaning of the word is "opportunist" or "turn-coat," I prefer to translate the word as "turn-throat" to take advantage of the rhyme in "coat" and "throat." Later, ICH asks Schaber: "Du sprachst nicht vor dich hin?" and concludes: "Hinter sich, natürlich, indem sein Kopf verkehrt ist" (84). For a definition and textual examples of the concept of "Körpersprache," see the section in Chapter 2 on the perverse body in Brussig's Helden wie wir and also Sigrid Weigel, Die Stimme der Medusa. Schreibweisen in der Gegenwartsliteratur von Frauen, 2nd ed., DülmenHiddingsel: tende, 1995) 111-130. Jennings attributes to the grotesque "a combination of fearsome and ludicrous qualities" which "simultaneously arouses reactions of fear and amusement in the observer" ("The Ludicrous Demon: Aspects of the Grotesque in German Post-Romantic Prose," Modern Philology 71 [1963]: 1-214, 9, italics are Jennings's).

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Schaber's insanity, manifested in his taboo-breaking, self-destructive actions and contradictory speech, compounds his grotesque appearance. Throughout the dialogue he repeats the desire to experience life: "Was werde ich erleben! Was habe ich versäumt" (25, similarly on 62, 92), acting on this philosophy of pursuing life experiences at all cost. Schaber's behavior is grotesque because it is pathologically excessive; his instinctual drives and opportunistic nature perpetually overpower him. When ICH invites him to a restaurant for lunch, Schaber acts like a Roman emperor of antiquity, demonstrating his ingestational prowess despite the fact that it must be virtually impossible physically for him to put food in his mouth with his head turned backwards: ER

Es muß auf den Tisch. Ich muß es schmecken. [...] Der Ober serviert, Speckkuchen, Miesmuscheln, Flammeri, Schaber lehnt sich zurück: Es stand auf der Karte. Erlesen, nicht wahr? [...] Er rülpst, und mampft jetzt mühsam, die Augen größer als der Mund, schluckt runter und kaut hoch. Er denkt nicht daran, mir etwas anzubieten [...] in dem Augenblick wirft er sich nach vorn und erbricht sich, kotzt die Mahlzeit über den Tisch, die Meeresalgen hängen ihm über die Lefzen. Er keucht: Es war zu viel. [...] Zu viel des Guten. Aber jetzt ist wieder Platz im Magen. (27-30)

The excessive consumption of food and its destructive effects have been a literary topos since the days of the ancient Greeks and Romans.54 More recent literary portrayals of how excessive or greedy behavior can lead to (self-)destruction include Gustave Flaubert's Madame Bovary (1857) and Bertolt Brecht's Baal (1918). Whereas Flaubert portrays Emma Bovary's excess aesthetically, as romantic daydreaming and understandable longing for a more exciting life, and Brecht depicts Baal's hedonism and violence as necessary stimulation for his creative, artistic development, Braun emphasizes that Schaber's pursuit of experience at all cost is purely selfcentered and senseless. Schaber's social detachment and obsession with experience, coupled with his disregard for his conversation partner, ICH, distinguish him as a grotesque and absurd character. Through ICH's interactions and adventures with Schaber, Braun also satirically critiques the ubiquitous capitalist advertising that has altered East German cityscapes. The streets of Berlin, blanketed with marketing posters and neon signs, reflect the manipulative influence of the free market economy. Schaber describes this commercial impact by compressing three German family product brand names together to represent all German companies and their advertising slogans: "Müllermeierschulze macht es möglich. Jeden Tag, in allen Medien macht _____________ 54

Petronius's Satyricon and Rabelais's Gargantua et Pantagruel are obvious precursors.

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man an dir herum. Man bedient dich" (53). This comment is ambiguous, simultaneously condemning the media's manipulation of human beings in encouraging excessive consumption, and affirming this service because it fulfills consumer desires. Similarly, while the two men search for "die höchste Instanz," i.e., the highest authority, usually considered to be God, in order to answer Schaber's existential question, "Werd ich bestehn, Herr Kommissar?," ICH finds the answer in the advertisements representing the limitless selection of Western consumer products: ICH Ich marschiere, um Übersicht zu gewinnen, die Oberwasserstraße hinauf bis auf die Gertraudenbrücke und blicke nach Westen. PEPSI-COLA FOR THE NEW GENERATION. MORGENPOST. Blicke auf das, zu einer Antwort, verlockende Angebot. Das ist sie. ER Wie denn, dieser Überfluß? O ja, rufe ich, das ist die Instanz. Wähle aus. (62-63)

East Germany had been a society that, before 1989, had seemed absurd because of the contrast between the socialist ideology and real existing socialism. This system was abruptly converted into a society in which many individual desires contribute to a predominant capitalist alienation, disconnectedness, and senselessness, absurd because much human agency is no longer directed toward bettering society as a whole, but rather toward creating an ever-wider palette of options for consumer products and self-serving, entertaining free-time activities. Asked in an interview with Christoph Funke in 1991 if there were differences between Eastern and Western German society that should be preserved, Braun answered: Das ist eine esoterische Frage. Was erleben wir denn? Den Einmarsch des Kapitalismus in eine herrenlose Gegend, die massenhafte Kollaboration mit dem Freund, der verblüfft sogleich sein wahres Gesicht zeigt. Er räumt unseren Laden aus und installiert sein bürgerliches Geschäft. Wir haben es gleich komplett und mit vollem Sortiment: Kurzarbeit, Arbeitslosigkeit, das Plattwalzen des Schwächeren, Betriebe und Institute, das Bauernlegen, die parlamentarische Demagogie und, wie dazugehörig, den [ersten irakischen Golf] Krieg. Jetzt stehen wir im Stoff dieses anderen Lebens. Ein herrliches, wildes, brutales Leben, wenn wir nur erst den Humor dazu haben und die wichtigste Tugend lernen, zu verdrängen, was es uns kostet und die Welt.55

Braun does not repress the costs of what he calls "this other life," but rather produces a bitter satire resembling that of Jonathan Swift or Karl Kraus in its exposure of specific societal ills. Braun exposes further, Western social problems by having ICH and ER encounter individuals traditionally considered deviants or outsiders. These people appear as abstract representatives of their kind: "Penner" _____________ 55

Volker Braun, "Jetzt wird der Schwächere plattgewalzt. Gespräch mit der berliner Tageszeitung 'Der Morgen' am 14. Februar 1991," Zickzackbrücke 50-54, 51-52.

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(19), "Hure" (52), unemployed "Arbeiter" (60), "Skins" (69), "Asylanten"/"Ausländer" (79), "[d]er deutsche Fachmann und Investor" (93). In further excessive acts Schaber provokes them to attack him physically. The homeless in front of the department store, the "Neonazi" Treuhand bureaucrats at his (Schaber's) old office building, the unemployed workers protesting their fate at the subway station, even a prostitute and his own wife—his attitude and behavior incite their repressed aggression. Significantly, nearly all of these groups did not exist officially in the GDR. Either able to stay at home and survive on state welfare, forced to integrate by taking on gainful employment, or removed from the public sphere by laws restricting loitering and prostitution, these groups were smaller, or, in the case of the homeless, nonexistent. It is easy for Braun to highlight them as symptoms of free-market societies; their existence alone is enough, in his mind, to condemn such societies as inhumane. Despite traditional arguments about the grotesque that separate it from the absurd, here Braun unites these two modes both to critique postunification German society and to point out the senselessness of life he perceives there, endemic to the capitalist ideology as it is practiced. Since most theories of the absurd in the latter half of the twentieth century developed in response to the Theater of the Absurd, scholars like Heidsieck and Pietzker base their definition on Martin Esslin's in The Theatre of the Absurd (1961), according to which it "presents the world as senseless and lacking a unifying principle."56 According to Esslin and Heidsieck, the Theater of the Absurd highlights the general senselessness of life—a condition human agency cannot change—and thus it is not motivated by a specific target or utopian vision. According to these scholars, authors use the literary grotesque pointedly to critique problems in society, thereby raising awareness of these specific, correctable human failings, whereas those authors who adopt the absurd mode assume from the start that human life is senseless and thus do not aim to improve it. Although Der Wendehals is not a theater play, it operates with some techniques common to the Theater of the Absurd, incorporating absurd commentary to represent the senselessness and detachment endemic to capitalism, similar to the way Samuel Beckett depicted the tedium and meaninglessness of modern life in Waiting for Godot.57 For Braun's protagonists ICH and Schaber, this system has become "life in general." The first of two mottos Braun selected for the title page of Part I of Der Wendehals, as noted above, is the quote from Montaigne's Essais: "Weiß man, ob nicht das menschliche Geschlecht seine Albernheiten begeht, _____________ 56 57

3rd ed. (London: Methuen, 2001) 425. Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot. Tragicomedy in Two Acts, trans. Samuel Beckett (New York: Grove, 1954, orig. 1952).

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weil ihm irgendein Sinn fehlt?" From the start, this quote raises the expectation that text that follows will highlight such silly behavior motivated by mankind's perception of life as senseless. The absurd senselessness in Schaber's life derives from the fact that his actions are directed toward earning money, prestige, or pleasure, but not toward any higher personal or societal goal. ICH comments on Schaber's lack of higher goals thus: "die Ziele, für die er sich einst opfern wollte, sind ihm abhanden gekommen, verblaßt wie Plakate vom vorigen Jahr. So geht er ans Werk—ohne irgendeinen Zweck zu verfolgen" (9). Contradictory figures like Schaber, who once strove to realize high ideals but later renounced them, whether truly insane like Schaber or not, are the thorns in Braun's side that motivated him to critique opportunists the way he does in Der Wendehals: "er [Schaber] steht nicht allein in dem Beruf, tatsächlich sehen wir all die abgehalfterten und gottvergessenen Genossen, von Egon Krenz bis zum letzten Lehrer der Staatsbürgerkunde, ins Kaufmännische überwechseln, zu den Versicherungen" (9-10). Occasionally, however, in his "Narrenfreiheit" Schaber utters truths about society that point toward his further role as a kind of modern-day court jester, who, precisely because of his position as a fool, can speak truths of which others might not be aware. Examples of his insights include the following assertions: "Das Volk will betrogen sein" (12) or "wir sind so sehr beschäftigt mit Wählen, daß uns nicht auffällt, was uns vorenthalten bleibt" (24). Near the dialogue's conclusion he muses: "Aber, wenn es alle...erleben wollten, würde die Erde untergehen" (100). The fact that he is able to express such an awareness, conceptually similar to Kant's categorical imperative, shows that he realizes the destructive nature of his actions. Although he recognizes morals and ideals and talks about them, he cannot adhere to them, however. Further down on the same page he proclaims: "Red keine Romane, laß uns leben." These contradictions in Schaber's character and speech are the sources of absurdity that eventually frustrate ICH and the reader, despite their occasionally humorous appeal. Even his name, Schaber, derived from the verb "schaben," meaning "to scrape," "grate," or "scratch," stigmatizes him as an irritant. Hidden in this name is also the word "Schabe," or "cockroach," a type of insect which is disgusting, ubiquitous, and virtually ineradicable because of its ability to adapt to any environment. Schaber's contradictory "wisdom" is irritating because of his innate obliviousness to society and to his companion. One definition of the absurd that differs from Esslin's and can expand the interpretation of its use in Der Wendehals as a form of satire was conceived by Linda M. Hill in the mid-1970s. In her comparative study focusing on French, German, and American dramas of the 1950s to early '70s, titled Language as Aggression: Studies in the Postwar Drama, Hill contends

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that Esslin's definition as a "vague slogan of meaninglessness does not facilitate a precise analysis of history or drama" and proposes a definition of the absurd "not as futility but as discontinuity." 58 She points out that causality, in which "one incident led to the next and characters did not speak or act without a motive," predominated in all Western dramatic styles prior to the absurd (Hill 11-12). By contrast, "[p]lot and characterization of absurd plays are inconsequent" (Hill 12). Defined in this way as discontinuity or inconsequence, the absurd does not simply highlight the senselessness of life by presenting a senseless plot or senseless character interactions. Integrating discontinuities of plot or character, the absurd can also comment directly on specific personality types or societal failings. Three examples Hill furnishes of such inconsequence of plot, character, setting, or speech, that can be detected in Braun's work are: 1) when characters do not respond to or change their behavior/character traits as a reaction to an event they experience to which they would most certainly react in the real world; 2) when characters "enlarge on their personal obsessions instead of replying to each other"; and 3) when characters' speech is composed of grammatically correct words that do not fit together (Hill 12).59 Point one pertains to the ways ICH and Schaber act as they traverse Braun's fictional Eastern Berlin; points two and three are woven together into their dialogue, discussed in greater detail in the section that follows. Such breaks in logic highlight failings in plot, character, setting, or speech and further indicate that the grotesque and the absurd are united within Braun's text. By allowing meaning to be attributed to some of Schaber's absurdities, Hill's definition opens up new ways to view Braun's text. Braun's Rhetorically Complex, Cabaret-Like Language ICH and Schaber's "absurdist grotesque" dialogue in Der Wendehals is transmitted via a complex language that at times appears comical and at others, absurdly disjointed or contrary to reason. ICH's language produces a comic effect because it is overly sophisticated.60 Since ICH no longer believes in the power of idealism's philosophical language to enlighten mankind and raise it up from its senseless, self-centered daily struggles, he _____________ 58 59 60

Bonn: Bouvier, 1976, 11. Hill discusses the playwrights Edward Albee, Eugène Ionesco, Peter Handke, Wolfgang Hildesheimer, Martin Walser, and Jochen Ziem. The only characteristic Hill formulates that is not present in Braun's text is the existence of a fictional world which is unintelligible, meaning without causality or temporal sequence. See ICH's remarks regarding philosophy and philosophers on page 8 of Der Wendehals. My analysis of these remarks can be found in the section that follows.

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can only highlight its absurdity in continuing to use it. ER's language is absurd and occasionally grotesque because it expresses paradoxically positive reactions to events which normal, psychologically healthy people would abhor and avoid. These reactions reflect the trauma from which he suffers, which has rendered him psychologically numb. After provoking a physical fight which he loses, for example, Schaber responds: "Das hat Spaß gemacht" (21). In ICH and Schaber's dialogue, this language, which has been used to describe the most noble humanitarian struggles and ideals, is degraded as in a mock epic by being applied to disgusting or offensive scenes (Schaber's fistfights and other excessive behavior), in mundane places (a department store, a subway station, a farmer's field), and in encounters with the marginalized (homeless people, prostitutes, the unemployed, Treuhand bureaucrats, asylum seekers). Braun communicates through this language his duo's perception that with the fall of communism, the days of humanitarian idealism are over, rendering such deeply reflective, idealistic language devoid of its original meaning. To further emphasize this loss or shift in meaning, Braun has his figures transform familiar philosophical phrases, some socialist, others more general, to describe the new circumstances in which they find themselves, as the other authors in this study do. Their words attack not only past and present events, but also internalized conceptual clichés with which the socialist system had inundated its citizens. Scrutinizing and mocking socialist phrases, Braun condemns them as remnants of a nowbanished, idealistic past. Reversing the Hegelian axiom, "Die Freiheit ist die Einsicht in die Notwendigkeit," for example, ER updates it to "Die Notwendigkeit ist die Einsicht in die Freiheit" (91). The "socialist" ideal of equating freedom with obligation (which can be traced back as far as Plato's Republic and was expressed perhaps most distinctively in Immanuel Kant's Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals) here becomes the need in a capitalist society for individuals to realize what freedom is and how best to exercise it.61 In the same vein the compound word "Weltverbesserer" becomes in ER's rantings "Weltvergesserer" (91), while "die Andersdenkenden" he calls "[d]ie Anderskennenden" (91), which ICH then cynically transforms into "Nichtsandersdenkende" (92). Such words emphasize the sociopolitical shift in Eastern Germany from idealism to selfish materialism—a lack of interest in nonconformist, progressive thinking and action. Braun also draws on multiple rhetorical devices and linguistic conventions for aesthetic variety and to call attention to language, inviting _____________ 61

The Republic, ed. and trans. I. A. Richards (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1966) 25 and Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals, trans. James W. Ellington (Indianapolis and Cambridge, UK: Hackett, 1981) 8-16.

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the reader to linger on each sentence. The complexity of this language can be illustrated by surveying these rhetorical devices. Using anaphora to add emphasis: "sie [die entlassenen Parteikader] waren ihrer Funktionen enthoben worden und auf geringes Geld gesetzt; in die Wüste geschickt.—In die Wirklichkeit.—In die Lächerlichkeit!" (8), in this case Braun's repetition of prepositional phrases also constitutes a formal climax. ER's use of anacoluthon (omitting words) produces a comical effect: "Alle bisherige…sagt Marx, war die…Gerichte" (66). Here, the replacement of the word "Geschichte" in Marx's original quote with "Gerichte" converts "history" into "courts of justice/tribunals" or "dishes of food." In the same passage ER turns Marx's phrase "die Geschichte der Klassenkämpfen" (the history of class struggles) into "die Getische von Klassenkämpfen" (the tables of class struggles). The "Kampf," or struggle "der Sklavenhalter und Sklaven" later becomes the rhymed "Mampf," or "chowing down/eating with one's mouth full." Such misapplications of words are classical instances of catachresis. In the section titled Zur Orientierung Braun stops in the middle of a sentence, neglecting to finish it: "Sobald wir den unentrinnbaren Strom der Erlebnisse nicht mehr hinnehmen, wie er gerade kommt, sondern" (45). This aposiopesis does not express the intense emotion usually associated with it as a rhetorical device, so that Braun's apparently senseless use of it appears ironic. Such complex language is grotesque because it is excessive and disorienting, blending philosophical ideals with physical acts to produce hybrid expressions. It constitutes one of the many Brechtian alienation techniques Braun employs to prevent the reader from identifying either with his characters or their traumatic situation. The difference between Braun's language and other authors' wordplays or shifts in meaning results partly from the text's dialogic format. He condenses disparate philosophical and literary allusions in obfuscatory sentences about which the reader is forced to think twice in order to grasp their many meanings. Because this language is so dense, overtly political, and witty, some newspaper critics have compared it to cabaret.62 Such a cabaret-like exchange takes place following a skirmish between Schaber and a homeless crowd in front of a department store: ER Meine Jacke ist zerrissen. Und mein Schuh! ICH Gut, diese Dinge...lassen sich flicken.

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Jörg Magenau calls the text "ein vergnügliches Gespräch mit philosophischem Mehrwert und kabarettistischem Nährwert" ("Stellwerk des Augenblicks," 17-18, 17). Jürgen P. Wallmann describes it thus: "Mit Recht erinnert man sich da ans Kabarett, von dem Braun in diesem Text gar nicht weit entfernt ist. Die Lage ist hoffnungslos, aber nicht ernst" ("Es macht keinen Sinn, aber Spaß. Jenseits der Weißwäsche: Volker Braun blickt auf die Jahre nach der Wende zurück" in Die Welt 8 April 1995, 95).

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ER ICH ER ICH

Ein geflickter Strumpf, sagt Hegel—"nicht so das Selbstbewußtsein". "Besser zerrissen als geflickt". Besser, Herr Kapitän, ein neues setzen. In dem Wind. Wenn man es hat. (21-22)

Here, the simple fact that Schaber's jacket and shoe are torn leads the two men to formulate metaphorical Hegelian conclusions about the unmendable nature of consciousness/self-awareness. Their language constantly shifts in this way from the concrete descriptive to the abstract, poetic, and intertextual, depending on the nature of their experiences as they traverse Berlin. ICH and ER do not narrate a story or autobiography; they juggle abstract ideas in a cabaret-like verbal debate. In the last twenty pages Braun employs two further devices to call attention to language. The first has ICH spouting words and phrases in a disconnected, rambling monologue that fills two entire pages (82-83). Because many of these phrases are socialist slogans twisted to bear a different meaning from the one originally intended, the monologue comes across as ICH's passionate attempt to purge himself once and for all of his former socialist optimism and vocabulary: Der Acker der Geschichte. Er liegt brach.—Das Neuland.—Öde, verlassen. Abgewrackte Fabriken.—Daß die Giftbuden dichtmachen, kann ich nur als Glück begreifen. Es war nicht zu hoffen!—Arbeitslose, atmet auf.—Das Land ist erleichtert...der Boden, die Wiesen, der Wald.—Nur der Mensch hats schwer. [...] Die großen Pläne, auf die der Regen rennt.—Der Stampfbeton.—Wir sind gescheitert, hurrah. [...] WO IST DER MORGEN; DEN WIR GESTERN SAHN.—Überrant, von stärkeren Betaillonen.—Eingerollt.—Hier ist nichts zu retten.[...] Die Zukunft.—Das Scheitern [...] Dann sind wir...die Vorhut des Nachsehns.—Die Avantgarde der Niederlage.—Die ruhmreich Verarmten.—Die mit vorauseilendem Gehorsam [...] das böse Beispiel geben...zugutererst?— Trotzdestonichts! Trotzdestonichts! (82-83)

Here, the cry "Trotzdestonichts!" expresses ICH's desperate need to cherish the socialist experiment as "worth a try," despite the fact that it failed miserably, as is reflected in the scarred landscape and people of Eastern Germany. The second technique Braun deploys to comment on language use before and after the Wende is to have Schaber assume a new identity. After ICH finishes his delusional monologue and comes to himself again, he sees Schaber standing at the edge of an overgrown farmer's field absurdly pretending to be a street vendor and propagandist (84). Schaber, in his deluded state, believes ICH to be a large crowd and proceeds to try to sell him (the imagined crowd) some of his wares. Instead of sticking to this role, however, Schaber remains consistent with his former character and undermines his new identity: "Wir wollen nur euer Bestes, euer Geld" (86). "Suggestion ist keine Lüge, wenn sie geglaubt wird. Sie ist der

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Service" (86). Schaber's emphasis on his new role as a street vendor propagandist suggests that propagandists in free-market economies are no longer tools of the state, but rather of commercial interests. Schaber's lust for life eventually affects ICH, whose attitude begins to change. Suddenly, in the text's final pages, he feels "die schreckliche Versuchung, den Hals zu verdrehen und frech in die verkehrte Richtung zu blicken!" (88). At this point the two characters fixate on the word "wenden," "turning" it inside and out so that it takes on the characteristics of its meaning: er greift einen nie gesehenen Gegenstand: den man verwenden, den man hin und her wenden kann (90) Das nenne ich eine kühne Wendung (90) Es ist eine Wende im Spargelbau. Die Gerichte...muß Wendungen machen. (95) Das ist die eine Seite. Wenden wir die andere um...die Welt (96) Öffne dich, sagt er, sei wendig, verwegen. Mach dich davon. Verwandle dich, in ein mögliches Wesen, ein Weib, ein Morgenstreif. Wende dich an. Verwende dich an alle (97) Ich höre atemlos zu und staune über die produktive Kraft seiner Wendung, den ausschweifenden Sinneswandel (97) Jetzt sind wir drin! sagt er in einem Rausch, wie kommen wir wieder heraus? Es muß ja nicht die letzte Wende sein (97-98)

Their fixation with this word culminates in a parodic rendition of Ludwig Uhland's 1833 poem "Frühlingsglaube," which perfectly mocks the situation in which ICH and Schaber find themselves: Das Blühen will nicht enden Die Welt wird schöner mit jedem Tag Man weiß nicht, was noch werden mag Das Blühen will nicht enden. Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Tal; Nun, armes Herz, vergiß der Qual! Nun muß sich alles— und jetzt falle ich ein und schreie mit Nun muß sich alles Nun muß sich alles, alles wenden. (98-99)

Here Braun undermines the otherwise neutral term Wende, which simply means "turn of events," because in his view the 1989 Wende led to negative results. He also mocks here the optimistic political slogan "blühende Landschaften": "Das Blühen will nicht enden" expresses a contrary, ironic meaning. Instead of "blooming landscapes," the Eastern Germans lived with devastated landscapes and high unemployment in the early 1990s.

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The well-known German comedian Dieter Hildebrandt describes Braun's language as "ein Jongleurakt mit Worten und Wendungen, eine artistische Begriffswirbelung, virtuoses Balancieren zwischen Wortglauben und Wortklauben, eine wütende Orgie des Changierens. Die Bedeutungen kommen in den Mixer, bis sie den Schwindel kriegen."63 The critic Rüdiger Görner concurs: "[Es] fällt auf, wie explosiv seine Sprache geworden ist. Diese Sprache hat nichts gemein mit dem oft selbstmitleidigen Befindlichkeitston, der in der Wendeliteratur nicht unüblich ist."64 The sheer number of wordplays with "wenden" in this scene evokes a cathartic liberation from postwall rhetoric; the word is chanted like a magic formula concocted to exorcize it by overusing it to the point of exhaustion. Via wordplays and ridiculously jumbled responses, Braun separates his characters from everyday existence, highlighting their symbolic roles as harbingers of the new, anti-utopian age. Their artificial, sometimes silly badinage could produce a more humorous effect if ICH's earnest disgust with the sociopolitical circumstances were not so overt. A few final exchanges between the two men which belong to the tradition of absurd theater are Schaber's response to ICH's question: "Wie fühlen Sie sich?" (99). Schaber replies with the nonsensical: "Besserschlechter oder als" (99).65 When ICH observes: "Das sehe ich," Schaber laughs and invents the expression "Wenigerdestonichts" (99), twisting the text's subtitle "trotzdestonichts." "Wenigerdestonichts" is a wordplay which weakens the expression "trotzdestonichts" by replacing the forceful "trotz" ("despite") with "weniger" ("less"). Transforming "trotzdestonichts" into "wenigerdestonichts" constitutes a move of resignation or abandonment. The dialogue ends with Schaber attempting to persuade ICH to join him in his senseless pursuit of experience: "Mach es wie ich: Du hast keine Chance, aber nutze sie" (101). Reacting to Schaber's offer, the final word ICH utters "gelassen" at the dialogue's close is Schaber's invented _____________ 63 64 65

"Letzte Lockerung des Wendehalses," Die Zeit: Literatur zur Leipziger Buchmesse 24 Mar. 1995, 77. "Findlinge vor Endmoränen: Volker Brauns Unterhaltung über den Wendehals," Neue Zürcher Zeitung. Internationale Ausgabe Fouilleton 11 May 1995, 35. Although this expression seems senseless, if the words are turned around to read "besser oder schlechter als" then Schaber's response echoes a question many Eastern Germans were asked following unification: "Geht es Ihnen jetzt besser oder schlechter als vor der Wende?" Actually, the phrase is an intertextual reference to one of Braun's GDR poems entitled "Rechtfertigung des Philosophen," from Lustgarten. Preußen. Ausgewählte Gedichte (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1996) 53. In the poem Braun writes: "Die große/Gewißheit der Klassiker und die langen/Gesichter der Nachwelt. Wohin soll ich denken?/Nach vorn immer durch den Vorhang von Blut/Der Blick auf die Kulissen und nicht hinter./So viele Kunst und hat nichts zu bedeuten./In der Vorstellung verbrauchen sich die Köpfe./Was immer kommt ist besserschlechter oder als./Was mir die Augen, öffnet nicht die Lippen."

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expression "Wenigerdestonichts" (102). By this time, he has undergone a transformation from viewing Schaber with detached curiosity and disdain to feeling an amused resignation at the man's unstoppable energy and absurd but clever speech. ICH finally realizes that neither he nor anyone else can change Schaber's opportunistic ways or prevent him from acting out his self-centered fantasies. Such "Wendehälse" as Schaber always come out on top. Braun invents a senseless language to comment on Schaber's senselessness, as well as on the verkehrte Welt in which Schaber and ICH live, which not only tolerates but in fact encourages his behavior. From Utopia to "Experience": Gerhard Schulze and Jon Elster Braun's interest in philosophical reflection can be traced back to his university experiences as a philosophy student in Leipzig. Direct quotes from, allusions to, and verbal plays on the words and ideas of philosophers such as Descartes, Hegel, Marx, and Bloch, among others, pepper his literary and essayistic writings. Der Wendehals is no exception. There is a perceptible difference, however, in how Braun uses philosophical reflections and quotes in his pre-unification works and in this post-unification one. In the past he had used philosophy as a means to an end, a tool to help him convey his own social analyses and prescriptions. In Der Wendehals philosophy has lost its prescriptive function and serves instead as a means of commenting on the absurdity of language and expressing ICH's frustration, as he laments: Aber was für ein Genuß, meine übrigen Freunde, jetzt verstehe ich euch erst, nicht denken zu müssen. Nicht dafür sein zu wollen oder, dem Naturell gehorchend, dagegen. Nichts beweisen zu müssen! Das ist eine andere, und siegreiche Philosophie, eigentlich ersehnt und uns auf den Leib geschrieben, nicht wahr?—Was hatten unsere Gelehrten, den Kopf einmal beiseite gelassen, für gute und massige Leiber. Und wie wenig haben sie sie eingesetzt. Und sie ins Leben gestemmt. Welcher Irrtum, mit dem Kopf zu leben! (7-8)

Here, Braun's author-figure describes the surrender of philosophical, humanitarian ideals to the materiality of existence. Formerly he had applauded these ideals, but now he criticizes the passivity they generated and fortified. Lastly, he berates their originators—the intellectuals—for their lack of engagement in the real, physical struggle to find practical solutions to humanity's problems. According to Braun's protagonist, ideas alone were not enough of a catalyst to bring about real changes in society that could lead it toward social justice and equality. "What a mistake to live with one's head": while Braun's author-figure ruefully proclaims this

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motto, the opportunist-figure ER/Schaber, consciously negating these ideals, enthusiastically embraces his corporeality. Braun further describes the way Eastern Germans have discarded their idealistic heritage quite literally by having ICH and ER dig through the collected works of Hegel, Marx, Lenin, Stalin, and other theorists in the dumpsters behind ER's apartment building. For Schaber, throwing his intellectual and cultural heritage into the trash is a positive act of liberation, an escape from his ponderous past—the "Denkzwang" of socialist theory: "Damit ist es vorbei. Nichts Vorgeschriebnes mehr, die lichte Zukunft. Die Zeitung, bitte sehr" (43). Schaber would rather read the daily newspaper than bother with utopian political theory. ICH, however, coldly examines each volume he grasps: "ich sehe es gelassen" (38). The two men dig deeply ("Bis sich die Prinzipien sauber zeigen, unverdorben, die reine"), first to find the original, "pure" and "unspoiled" utopian theory, then to find the author who was responsible for perverting this theory by arguing that it should be put into practice. ICH claims the fork in the road came when Engels published Von der Utopie zur Wissenschaft (42). Here Braun distinguishes ICH, a well-versed intellectual, from ER, a silly buffoon, who questions: "Hat man das je gelesen," laughing and comically reversing Engels's book title to "Von der Wissenschaft zur Utopie" (44). ICH, like a protective parent, scolds him: "Laß sie, wo sie sind. Im Finstern. Laß die Finger davon." To intensify his warning, ICH claims: "Das sind Leichen, sage ich mitleidlos. Rühr sie nicht an. Erschossen und begraben: hier in [Berlin] Mitte" (44). The two men stand and offer the dumpster a moment of silence.66 With this comical exchange Braun irreverently mocks Marx's assertion, oft-quoted in the GDR, that mankind will embrace with exaltation the final historical phase prior to the implementation of communism: "Warum dieser Gang der Geschichte? Damit die Menschheit heiter von ihrer Vergangenheit scheidet."67 In Braun's dumpster scene ICH and Schaber take leave of their socialist past ceremoniously to enter a seemingly final capitalist historical phase with precisely such a lightheartedness. Because a central purpose of Der Wendehals is to question present-day Western conceptions of, and obsession with, life as one, big "Erlebnisprojekt," looking at two further philosophical bases for Braun's inquiry is essential here. In the monologue "Zur Orientierung," which interrupts ICH and ER's conversation to clarify Braun's perspective on _____________ 66

67

This scene echoes Book I, Chapter VI of Cervantes's Don Quixote, entitled "Of the Pleasant and Curious Search Made by the Curate and the Barber of Don Quixote's Library" and the following chapter in which Don Quixote's maid throws his books on knighthood and chivalry out the window into the yard where she later burns them (Cervantes 48-56). Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Die heilige Familie (Berlin: Dietz, 1953) 16.

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Schaber (45-46), the narrator, possibly Braun himself, reflects on Western society's late twentieth-century obsession with experiencing life ("erleben"/"Erlebnisse"). Since a large proportion of the population in Western Europe and the United States earns enough money to be able to afford more than just the basic necessities of life—food, clothing, and shelter—it now occupies itself with searching for and taking part in events which can be considered an enrichment of one's "life experience." Whether it be tasting exotic food, traveling to a foreign country, or bungee-jumping, the point is to experience something new and exciting. In this section of Der Wendehals Braun mentions two prominent European scholars who have written extensively about "experience": Gerhard Schulze and Jon Elster. The sociologist Schulze describes this fundamentally new orientation characterizing postwar society: Das Leben schlechthin ist zum Erlebnisprojekt geworden. Zunehmend ist das alltägliche Wählen zwischen Möglichkeiten durch den bloßen Erlebniswert der gewählten Alternative motiviert: Konsumartikel, Eßgewohnheiten, Figuren des politischen Lebens, Berufe, Partner, Wohnsituationen, Kind oder Kinderlosigkeit. [...] Im historischen Vergleich zeigt sich die Ausbreitung und Normalisierung der Erlebnisorientierung als etwas Neuartiges. Mit der Bewältigung dieser neuen Bedingung sind wir noch beschäftigt, sowohl im Alltagsleben wie in der Kulturwissenschaft. Erst allmählich wird uns bewußt, daß wir nicht am Ende aller Probleme angekommen sind, sondern bei neuen, ungewohnten Schwierigkeiten. (Schulze 14)

As Brussig based his figure Klaus from Helden wie wir roughly on Maaz's psychoanalysis of the repressed East German in Der Gefühlsstau, Braun created the figure Schaber as an exaggerated incarnation of a postunification Eastern German who, like the Western counterparts Gerhard Schulze describes, pursues multifarious "experiences" just for the purpose of experiencing them. Jon Elster is a philosophically-grounded economist and political scientist. Braun's narrator quotes Elster's analysis of Western mankind's "quest for experience" as producing the opposite result of that which the pursuer of this type of experience imagines.68 In an email correspondence referencing Braun's allusion to his work, Elster replied: He [Braun] refers to Ch.II of my SOUR GRAPES, Cambridge UP 1983. The chapter is called "States that are essentially by-products". A brief description of the key idea follows: States that are essentially by-products are states that cannot be realized by actions motivated only by the desire to realize them. These are states that may come about, but not be brought about intentionally by a simple decision. They include

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Sour Grapes: Studies in the Subversion of Rationality (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge UP, 1983).

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the desire to forget, the desire to believe, the desire to desire (e.g. the desire to overcome sexual impotence), the desire to sleep, the desire to laugh (one cannot tickle oneself), and the desire to overcome stuttering. Attempts to realize these desires are likely to be ineffectual and can even make things worse. (It's a commonplace among moralists that intentional hedonism is self-defeating, and that nothing engraves an experience so deeply in memory as the attempt to forget it.) Although we may wish for them to be realized, we should beware of wanting to realize them. Some of these states can be brought about indirectly, by trying to achieve another goal. Others can be achieved through a different kind of indirection, by adopting a two-step strategy. I cannot will myself to sleep, but I can will taking a sleeping pill. If I suffer from impotence caused by performance anxiety, I can take Viagra. Stuttering cannot be cured by any of these indirect techniques. To overcome (mild) stuttering, a sufficient and necessary condition is to stop thinking about stuttering. Yet that condition cannot be brought about by will. There is a trick that never fails to amuse or, depending on the age, frustrate children: you tell them that the rug in the living room is a magic carpet that will bring them anywhere they want to go, on the sole condition that they don't think about giraffes. A less benign example is the typical or caricatural American mother from the 1950s who told her daughters never even to think about sex.69

Schulze and Elster together provide the basis for Braun's central argument. Placed in italics to emphasize the fact that this essayistic commentary, included for the purpose of "orienting" the reader, is distinct from the ICH/Schaber dialogue, Braun writes: Betrachtet man, orientiert an Elster, Erlebnisse als Ereignisse, die eigentlich Nebenprodukt sind, so liegt nahe, ihre Planung überhaupt als unsinnige Utopie zu betrachten. Rationalität könnte gerade in der Vermeidung der Planung bestehen, damit der sensible Vorgang des Erlebens nicht durch die Absicht gestört wird, ihn herbeizuführen. (45)

Here, Braun invites the reader to reject Schaber's (and post-1945 Western humanity's) attitude toward experiences as events that can be planned. He laments: "Es ist immer weniger möglich, von dem, was gebraucht wird, auf das zu schließen, was ist" (46). Discussing intertextual references and allusions in Der Wendehals clarifies the author's sociohistorical and moral position. Wilfried Grauert explains Braun's purpose in steeping his texts with such references: [G]erade bei Braun wird die Aneignung der eigenen Geschichtlichkeit sowie die Einbeziehung der literarischen Tradition von der Erfahrung der Gegenwart her perspektiviert; sie sind Momente im Prozeß der reflexiven Erhellung gegenwärtiger Erfahrung, die auf die Konstruktion eines Gegenwartsbewusstseins sowie auf die Rekonstruktion des Geschichtsprozesses zielen (Traditionslinie Benjamin, Bloch und Eisler).70

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Jon Elster, "Re: Which book of yours is it?," E-mail to the author, 20 January 2002. Wilfried Grauert, Ästhetische Modernisierung in der DDR-Literatur 5.

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Moving Beyond Satirical Critiques: Seven Short Stories Placed at the end of his theatrical dialogue as a coda, Braun included seven miniatures in Part II of Der Wendehals under the subtitle "Die Fußgängerzone." These short texts further illuminate participant-observer experiences of the changes that took place during and after the Wende in Germany. The pieces, like snapshots in a photo album, represent fleeting impressions of these changes. Here, Braun himself occasionally seems to speak more directly through the narrator(s) than he had in "Der Wendehals oder Trotzdestonichts." Like all of Braun's writings, these texts are complex and densely written. In exploring them I focus on three themes which illustrate the diverse ways Braun has approached unification's effects: the Eastern German experience of change, the feeling of helplessness and passivity in the face of this change, and an optimistic message made possible when individuals have access to unfettered time. I also indicate how Braun uses these themes to move beyond his satirical critiques in the longer text constituting Part I. Moving from a Stasi informer's observations of, and aggressive reaction to, the fall 1989 demonstrations to Braun's own, disparate thoughts and discoveries in the early 1990s, the central theme in each text is the experience of change. "Schlich und Häme. Eigener Bericht"71 records two essentially different reactions to the fall 1989 upheaval: the horror of those tenuously holding positions of power and the commitment of those still taking and fulfilling orders. Though brief, this scene fills the chronological gap in Part I of Der Wendehals between Schaber's former role as director of the GDR Akademie der Wissenschaften and his current position as instructor at a Finanzakademie. This story and the following one provide a motive for Schaber's opportunistic behavior. Fear of losing his position as an authority figure drives him to "sell himself to capitalism." By contrast, although also on the cusp of his own demise, the obedient, titular Stasi informant Schlich experiences these changes positively, because he finally has a tangible mission that allows him to exert himself actively, rather than as passive observer. Assigned to report on one of the fall demonstrations, perhaps in Leipzig or Berlin, Schlich is at first disoriented and irritated by the tumult: "wo ist oben, was ist links, und wie soll er sich in dem Diagramm postieren?" (105). "Er kontrolliert das Geschehen, das außer Kontrolle ist!" (106). By the story's conclusion, however, having discovered a way to perform his duty, he feels a strong sense of satisfaction. Adapting chameleon-like to his new role as subverter _____________ 71

"Schlich," the simple past form of the verb "schleichen," meaning to "sneak around," is an appropriate name for a Stasi official, as is the name "Häme," meaning "malicious."

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of the demonstrations, Schlich hides among the masses until his time to shine arrives. During a speech on "Lohn und Arbeit, Kampf und Streik"—ironically taboo topics in the GDR, which claimed to be a workers' paradise—Schlich accomplishes his task by whistling so loudly that he drowns out the speaker's voice.72 He experiences pleasure in this act ("Schlich, wie gewaschen in seinem Rock, wie nach einer Höchstleistung ausgelaugt, fühlt jeden Muskel wohlig") because of its physicality, which contrasts with his usual, passive role as observer (108). As the omniscient, third-person narrator follows Schlich, "reporting" his movements in this "Bericht" the way Schlich might later record his observations of the demonstration in his Stasi protocol, the reader also gains insight into the way the Stasi operated, divided into hierarchies including individuals such as the informant, code-named Meistersinger, "der, Schlich allein weiß es, das Privileg hat mitzuarbeiten an seiner Überwachung, selbst zu sagen, was man von ihm hören soll, eine Form des Respekts, den die Unterdrückung annahm" (106). Braun contrasts Schlich's counter-revolutionary, ironically positive reaction to the Wende with Schaber's reaction of horror at the events unfolding. From Schlich's position among the crowd, Braun casts a fleeting glimpse at Schaber in his last days as a socialist party functionary, standing on the speakers' tribunal, "sein bleiches verzerrtes Zeitungsbild, die heraustretenden Augen beim Anblick des Chaos…des unermeßlichen…Ziels" (106). Schaber's horrified reaction to the demonstrations illustrates how the ripple effects of the revolution permeated East German society simultaneously from the top down and the bottom up, rather than only from the bottom upward, as media reports of street demonstrations at the time led outsiders to believe. In the following story, "Das Zentrum," the Wende has run its course and a few months, perhaps a year or two have passed. The unnamed, unemployed, first-person narrator, a former Stasi agent, though initially melancholic about having lost his job, comes to revel in his newly-won power and freedom. Losing his job and witnessing the westernization of his world has left him with mixed, contradictory feelings: ich will im Ernst an meine verlorene Arbeit gehn, und empfinde aber, in dem dünnen Gewühl, einen rohen ziehenden Schmerz, eine Freude...indem ich etwas vermisse; etwas Gelebtes, das ich insgeheim, in meinen Fasern noch lebe.—Ans Werk. Wir befinden uns in der Fußgängerzone, Kamerad, einer beruhigenden Errungenschaft, und es meldet sich die Scham. (109)

Ashamed of the GDR's backwardness, not only in the realm of technology, but also in the stagnation of its socialist goals, this narrator interprets the changes in his world as a form of progress, even though the _____________ 72

Schlich's interruption of the demonstration speeches here alludes to Oskar's percussive disruption of a Nazi rally in Danzig in the chapter "Die Tribüne" from The Tin Drum.

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loosening of the former hierarchy of political power has led to a new type of heirarchy based on "Profit" (108). A chance encounter with "Der Chef, das Hohe Tier" Schaber, provides the catalyst which forces him to rethink his position in society's power hierarchy (110). Whereas before 1989 he had to follow Schaber's orders, now he realizes: In Wirklichkeit war ich es, der pfiff: und er sprang. In Wirklichkeit—wenn man es ernst nahm—war ich sein Vorgesetzter. [...] Ich konnte vorschreiben, was ich will, er mußte mir folgen [...]. Das war mein Privileg, daß ich Antwort bekam (und er nicht). Ich war verantwortlich für ihn. Ich habe ihn vernachlässigt, ich habe ihn verkommen lassen. Jetzt bin ich das Sorgerecht los. (110)

The loyalty he felt toward Schaber as his boss in the former hierarchy has disappeared. Now Schaber has not only become subordinate to him ("Er war der Untertan" [110]), but also to the common citizens, whom Braun calls here "das Volk der Mäuse" (110).73 It is symbolic that the narrator and Schaber meet in a line at the Deutsche Bank, which represents money as the new source of power. Here, a narrator who may or may not be the ICH figure from Part I, reflects on how profoundly the former GDR power relations have turned around. His reflections demonstrate how contradictory the results of the Wende were: on the one hand, former state employees such as he experience liberation, on the other hand, they suffer not only from the loss of their jobs but also from the loss of their former identities. This theme of change appears in the other stories, as well. "Nach Lage der Dinge" describes how GDR citizens lost their communal possessions ("die Dinge"/"das Eigentum")—the means of production, the factories— so quickly after the Wende, that "[b]is man begriff, was eigentlich vor sich ging, war es um alles geschehn" (112). Change is represented by the personified factory machines that "herrenlos aus den Hallen [starrten]," "im Regen stand[en]," and "versuchten, sich zu behaupten" with no avail, until the unemployed people lost all contact with them and they acquired "ein schreckliches Aussehen" as "entmenschte Maschinen" (111-112). Here Braun emphasizes the passivity of Eastern Germans by presenting them as no more able to defend themselves against the socioeconomic changes taking place around them than their abandoned machines can. In "Archiv" Braun strings together eighteen separate mini portraits to convey his own disparate impressions of the absurdities and unusual events he as _____________ 73

Here Braun compares East German citizens to the "Volk der Mäuse" from Franz Kafka's short story "Josefine die Sängerin oder Das Volk der Mäuse," in which the mice, "leidensgewohnt, sich nicht schonend, schnell in Entschlüssen, den Tod wohl kennend" (360) are mesmerized by Josephine's singing ("pfeifen"), but eventually rise up to protest her "Befehlshaberei" (361) and contribute to her refusal to sing and eventual disappearance (Drucke zu Lebzeiten, ed. Wolf Kittler, Hans-Gerd Koch, and Gerhard Neumann (Frankfurt a. M.: S. Fischer, 1994) 350-377).

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an individual and/or all Eastern Germans witnessed. The most poetic text is the second one in which Braun depicts his hopes as an armored cocoon from which a monstrous, nightmarish butterfly, making "ein fauchendes, oder blechernes Geräusch" emerges to fly "pfeilschnell" across the metaphoric fields of the GDR to destroy "mein Besitz" (113), his communally-owned country. Playing on the meaning of the word "schmettern" ("to smash" or "crash") in "Schmetterling" ("butterfly"), he turns this otherwise harmless creature into a weapon of mass destruction. Adopting a gigantic metal butterfly as a symbol for unification's destructive effects exaggerates a chaos theory concept envisioned by Ray Bradbury in his science fiction short story "The Sound of Thunder" (1952), which later came to be called the "butterfly effect." This theory proposes that the mere flapping of a butterfly’s wings, that is, a small motion produced at a pivotal historical juncture, can profoundly affect the course of world events. As in "Nach Lage der Dinge" the devastation occurs so quickly that neither the narrator nor the other Eastern Germans can defend themselves. In these stories and others the changes are represented by their effects not only on people, but also on places and objects. The two stories that express Braun's conclusions about the emotional and psychological reactions to unification's changes most elaborately are "Die letzte Vorstellung" and "Am Weststrand oder Die Kunst des Berichtens." In these texts the narrators' experience of excess time allows them to observe and reflect on the recent changes. Although seeming to contradict the images presented in the previous two texts, in which the pace of change is rapid, these are set in foreign countries, so that physical and temporal distance from East(ern) Germany assists the narrators (and obviously Braun himself) to come to terms with this change.74 In "Die letzte Vorstellung" the narrator claims "Ich hatte auf einmal viel Zeit," now that "meine Arbeit getan war, alle Vorhaben erledigt—im elendsten Sinn" (119). His efforts to promote an alternative political agenda to that of the Western German one have failed: "Nun kam nichts mehr. Die Mitgliedschaften waren erloschen, die Petitionisten schickten umsonst ihre Faxe. Ich war nicht mehr ansprechbar" (119). "Getting away from it all" in Italy, he finally uses this time to attend British theater director Peter Brooks's consciousness-raising seminar in the amphitheater in Rotoli, _____________ 74

That Braun traveled extensively following the opening of the GDR border can be seen in the texts he writes in which the narrator is synonymous with himself: in the third text from "Archiv," for example, he receives an award in San Francisco for having assisted in bringing about the fall of the Wall. In the spring of 1993 he accepted an offer to stay in the Villa Massimo in Rome as writer in residence for a few months. The experiences he records in "Die letzte Vorstellung" most likely took place during this sojourn.

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Italy. Here the narrator/Braun can finally turn inward and examine his experiences from a calmer perspective (119). As in "Am Weststrand oder die Kunst des Berichtens," he expresses an optimism and hope for the future that are lacking in "Der Wendehals." Standing on the amphitheater stage and following Brooks's directions: "daß wir uns befreien müßten von allem, was wir mit uns herumschleppen" and "[d]as Gefühl sei die Richtung, der Weg. Die zu frühe Form entstehe aus Angst. Aus Angst, es nicht zu erleben; keinen Sinn zu sehen. […] Alle Erfahrung lehre, daß es besser sei zu warten" (120). This advice to be patient and wait echoes that given in "Der Wendehals oder Trotzdestonichts"—that the individual should not hasten to pursue experience out of fear. Brooks's answer to the senselessness Braun describes earlier provides a clear, positive perception of humanity: "Nur eines sei von Belang auf der Bühne: die Person, der lebendige Mensch. Der Mensch, der leidet und kämpft, der sich behauptet, der hilft. Der mit allem lebt, den Freuden und den Schrecken. Nichts ist so stark wie der Mensch" (121-22). By contrast, in "Am Weststrand oder Die Kunst des Berichtens" the main point might be formulated as "you have to deal with change, even when it literally hits you in the face." While sitting in a café on vacation in Bordeaux, France, the narrator drinks wine until he becomes drunk, reflecting on his relationship to his lover, Terese, from whom he is now separated ("hatte ich es ihr unmöglich gemacht?" [124]). He ponders the metamorphosis ("Verwandlung" [124]) taking place within himself and in Terese and his faith in her ability, as well as their ability as a couple, to master this metamorphosis: "Würde ich zurückfinden zu diesem Glauben? Er würde mich selbst verwandeln" (125). As he ponders these internal changes, he observes the city of Bordeaux, which also gradually changes before his eyes from a "dreckigen öden Stadt" to an "ausgepackten Platz" where "das unverschämte Leben" "bis an die Tische drängte" (123). His moment of epiphany comes when he stumbles to an Automated Teller Machine and sees the word "CHANGE," which he perceives to be "eine Aufforderung, der ich in meinem Zustand nachzukommen suchte" (125). Ironically, just as he receives his money from the machine, he is assaulted by two thieves, who pummel him to the ground. Instead of becoming angry or depressed by this occurrence, however, he realizes that he has been living a lie and decides to free himself from this lie once and for all: Ich fühlte, als ich hinübersank, daß ich die Beschreibung nicht abschließen konnte, und doch, seltsam genug, empfand ich in dieser Minute nichts als Freude, da mir mein ganzer Plan noch einmal vor Augen lief. Genug der Maskerade! rief ich mir lachend zu, heraus, zeige dich! Willst du am Leben bleiben? Zeige dein armes Gesicht, deinen Schmerz. Die kalten Steinplatten schlugen an die Schulter. Alles rückte hier unten zusammen, um die nächste Zukunft zu erkunden; nichts blieb an seinem sinnvollen Platz. Lebe, so gut du kannst. (125)

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Escaping from his emotional trap by deciding to reveal his true feelings, if only to himself, he accepts life with its bumps and bruises. His epiphany is his escape from thinking about grand humanitarian schemes and instead focusing on himself as an individual. These final words are left with the reader: live as well as you can, but live, reaffirming the message of survival other Eastern German satirists send. By contrast, as we shall see, Kerstin Hensel presents a more pessimistic view of the GDR and of unification's effects in Gipshut. Her male SED party representative, who cannot break free from a rigid fixation with socialism, causes the premature deaths of his mother in 1989 and half the city of Berlin a decade later.

Kerstin Hensel's Gipshut Kerstin Hensel, born in Karl-Marx-Stadt (Chemnitz) in 1961, studied nursing locally and worked as a surgical nurse from 1980-83. After her first volume of poetry, Poesiealbum, appeared, she was accepted into the Literaturinstitut Johannes R. Becher, where she studied from 1983-85. After that, she worked briefly as an assistant at the Schauspielhaus in Leipzig, in 1987 becoming a freelance author and academic and moving to Berlin where she lives today. She has published several poetry and short story collections, plays, essays, and novels.75 Like her first novel, Auditorium panopticum, Gipshut (1999) incorporates features of multiple genres, including the grotesque, the picaresque, the fantastic, the fairy tale, the quest novel, and the romance novel. The ways these genres are melded in the two texts differ, however. The earlier novel's montage form allows diverse genres to be juxtaposed without dashing the reader's expectations of them as subversively as Gipshut does. On the surface a more realistic novel, Gipshut is nevertheless more disconcerting because of the ways Hensel inserts the fantastic and multiple, skewed genre conventions into its interwoven, seemingly coherent plot strands. As in Der Wendehals, the grotesque is thus not only manifested in the characters and their life experiences, but also in the novel's hybrid form and varied use of language. The postmodern, multigenre technique sets Der Wendehals and Gipshut apart from most other representatives of the literary trend toward satirical reckonings with the GDR and unified Germany.76 _____________ 75 76

The above biographical information was taken from Kerstin Hensel, ed. Beth Linklater and Birgit Dahlke, Contemporary German Writers Series (Cardiff: U of Wales P, 2002) 7-9. Other Eastern German satires like Helden wie wir, Spur der Broiler, or Katerfrühstück also display a blending of genres, but they are less pronounced than in Gipshut or Der Wendehals.

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The biographies of Veronika Dankschön and her son, Hans Kielkropf, comprise the first of Gipshut's two plot strands. A mentally retarded orphan of the Second World War, Veronika belongs to the postwar generation of East German villagers who struggled to survive and to build the new, socialist order. Born in 1933, the year Adolf Hitler became chancellor of Germany, and committing suicide in 1989, the year of the GDR's demise, connects her to the generation of East Germans who lived through the Nazi period and the GDR. In 1949 at the age of sixteen she finds a job stacking goods at the local Konsum supermarket warehouse and works there until her premature death. Although she is raped and later abandoned by her husband, the reason she commits suicide is because her only son rejects her. This son, Hans, born in 1950 and possessing a higher intelligence than his mother but lacking the ability to think independently, becomes obsessed with the socialist ideology as a child, studies to become a journalist, and thereby escapes for a while from his hometown in pursuit of his socialist ideals. His life, like Klaus Uhltzscht's or Mario Zwintzscher's (see Chapter 2), parallels events in GDR and unification history, in Hans's case until 1997. After unification he becomes unemployed and must work beneath his education. Frustrated at the loss of his ideals and former status, Hans hastens the explosion of a volcano whose epicenter he discovers in the basement of his workplace in Berlin. Hensel pokes fun sympathetically at Veronika for being foolish and simple, and attacks those who patronize her for this simplicity, but Hans' ideological rigidity receives the full brunt of her satire. The second plot strand, interwoven with the first and temporally much shorter though equal in length, develops as a postwall romance between two Eastern German geologists, Anna Fricke and Paul Norg. The two meet and fall in love in the summer of 1997 on a field expedition seeking the epicenter of a subterranean volcano that stretches across the Eastern German state of Brandenburg. Though born and raised in Saxony, Anna earns her geology degree in Munich and is employed as a graduate assistant by the university at Garmisch-Partenkirchen, so when she returns to the East, she poses as a Westerner, at first causing conflicts with Paul. The titular "Gipshut" is what the geologists (and Hans) discover: a soft, white geologic formation consisting of gypsum (plaster) that "caps" or plugs the sunken volcanic crater. Whereas this second plot strand focuses on a thin slice of time in the late 1990s, Hensel thrice connects Paul's pre-unification biography to Hans Kielkropf's, beginning with Paul's birth in 1968. Furthermore, she has Anna, also born in '68, recount her life story midway through the novel. Hans, Anna, and Paul's biographies converge on the dormant volcano that fatefully erupts beneath their common workplace, the Berliner Stadtschloss, at the novel's

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conclusion. In her fictional unified Germany, Hensel has this palace be rebuilt on its former foundations beneath the GDR parliament building, the Palast der Republik, which had replaced it after the war.77 These two generally ironic realist, linear plot strands switch back and forth with each other in time and location. Within each strand, grotesque events, bodies, and narrative structures appear. The primary grotesque features of Gipshut are its distorted characters, varied language registers and miscommunications, multigenre approach, and excessive use of symbols and binaries. These features dictate my organization in the following interpretive sections: grotesque bodies, grotesque language, and grotesque narratives. The third section on grotesque narratives addresses individually the novel's main genres—the picaresque, fairy tales and the fantastic, and the quest novel—and assesses the grotesque effects created by this mixing of genres. As we shall see, these bodies, genres, and linguistic quirks are bound together by their grotesque bursting of expectations and the production of ambiguity: the multigenre approach in itself is grotesque, and expectations associated with the individual genres are also frustrated in a grotesque way. Within the final section, I address Hensel's precursors, a few similarities and differences between Gipshut and Auditorium panopticum, and possible reasons why she revisits past feminist topics and the picaresque GDR ideologue, made famous in Brussig's Helden wie wir. The novel's composition and characters resemble paintings by the artist René Magritte or drawings by M.C. Escher that fool the observer by appearing logically constructed, but are actually trompes l'oeil. Grotesque Bodies: A "Neuer Mensch" and a Socialist Heroine The grotesque in an artistic context can reflect trauma produced by emotional abuse, alienation, corporeal violence, illness and other physical pain, or by massive historical events and natural disasters, by exhibiting it in the form of distorted bodies. Essential to these usually horrifying _____________ 77

Hensel's fantasy will soon become reality. In 1993 two nonprofit organizations were founded in Berlin to collect the funds to rebuild the Stadtschloss in its original location. Although recent financial troubles in Germany have hindered the allotment of tax monies for this purpose, plans called for funding to be granted in 2007 ("Berliner Stadtschloss" Wikipedia. Die freie Enzyklopädie, 3 February 2006, Wikimedia Foundation, 5 February 2006 ). On January 19, 2006 the Bundestag voted to demolish the Palast der Republik, and its removal commenced in that same month. The SPD politician Wolfgang Tiefensee has stated that the reconstruction of the Stadtschloss may begin in 2012 (Ulrich Paul, "Endgültig: Palast der Republik wird abgerissen. Parlament entscheidet mit großer Mehrheit," Berliner Zeitung, 20 January 2006, BerlinOnline, 5 February 2006 ).

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physical forms being perceived as grotesque is the ambivalence and distance with which they are portrayed, which produces an ambiguous reaction within the reader/spectator. The geologist Paul Norg possesses such an ambiguous, grotesque body in Gipshut. A genetic hormone imbalance stimulates his body to grow abnormally large, so that it reaches 99 centimeters in length at birth and over two meters in height when fullgrown. Although Paul's body is so distended that it causes him constant pain—initially trapping him both physically and mentally—because it is nearly physically impossible, it cannot be taken entirely seriously. The fantastical nature of this size counters the potential horror a similar, literal body might provoke. Through Paul, Hensel subverts the socialist ideal of the "Neuer Mensch," a new type of superior human being produced by socialist society who was supposed to work overtime to improve it.78 Paul's large shape inverts Oskar Matzerath's dwarf stature in Grass's Blechtrommel and renders Paul at first less capable of exerting human agency than Oskar, whose irritating drum and glass-shattering scream serve as subversive weapons against a hostile adult world. Like Oskar, who begins to grow again after the war but remains a cripple, Paul is also "cured," but his healing is imperfect. He successfully studies geology, ironically fulfills his destiny to become the "Neuer Mensch" seven years after unification as a result of his romantic relationship with his colleague Anna, and discovers a volcanic crater in Brandenburg; however, when he loses his position at the Potsdam geological institute for lack of funding, he also loses his life's purpose and returns to his original, dangerous state of apathy. On a semiotic level, Paul represents the large, intractable GDR state, incapable of implementing true socialism, crippled by the disillusionment that spread there after the failure of Prague Spring, which took place in the same year as Paul's birth, 1968. In this respect, Paul is modeled after Oskar, who stands symbolically for a crippled Germany during and after the war. But this connection is ambiguous. The fact that Paul gains the ability to speak and to think progressively by a series of fantastical and ecstatic sexual experiences shared with the protean East/West figure of Anna, rather than by the immediate effects of unification, undermines this symbolic connection. Another, equally important reason Paul exists in his grotesque, physical shape is so that Hensel can dig her satirical barbs into the avid _____________ 78

The socialist "Neuer Mensch" strikingly resembles the Nietzschean "Übermensch," conceieved as a new, advanced type of human being, but the difference between the two should be obvious: the "Neuer Mensch" is born to help create a collectivized, socialist society in which all people are treated fairly and equally, while the "Übermensch" stands opposed to the "herd," which he leaves behind in pursuing his own, individual goals.

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socialist Hans. Ironically, Paul's immense height delights Hans, who erroneously believes that Paul really is the "Neuer Mensch": Er war sich sicher: Paul Norg befand sich in qualitativem Umschlag von der biologischen zu einer neuen gesellschaftlichen Bewegungsform, anthropogenetisch exakt marxistisch angelegt, und Hans Kielkropf mußte dieses Phänomen vor der Verkennung retten. (154)

From the moment Hans reads about Paul's birth in the local newspaper, he deludes himself into believing that this giant will somehow embody and produce a new socialist world, and he works to convert Paul to his beliefs whenever he meets him. Paul, however, remains completely indifferent to Hans's admiration because he can neither move without pain nor speak. Paul's grotesque body thus assists Hensel to reveal Hans's ideological obsession with socialism to be perverted. Interpreting Paul according to Marven's thesis of grotesque bodies controlled and out of control under socialism produces further ambiguities if one dissects Hensel's characterization of him throughout the novel. His body is both controlled and eludes control because of its overgrown state, not because it is rendered powerless by authority. Hans Kielkropf's most desperate efforts to turn Paul into "der Neue Mensch" fall on deaf ears, because for years Paul is neither physically nor mentally manipulable. On one occasion, after Hans proselytizes to him about socialism, he is, for a brief time, "geheilt" of his pain, but no better socialist for it (123). Moreover, the author plays with the reader's perception of his condition by providing the "real" cause of his gigantism, which purportedly is a scientifically explainable hormone imbalance: "Die Diagnose primordinaler Hochwuchs stand gegen die Vermutung, die sozialistische Gesellschaft habe in Paul Norg einen Vertreter des Menschen Neuen Typus vor sich" (153). Here, the author appears to avoid characterizing him as a fantastic or fairytale figure and thus to discredit rationally Hans's belief that Paul is the "Neuer Mensch," but this illusion is deceiving. "Primordial gigantism" does not exist as a real medical disorder. Instead, the term is a playful invention of a new condition based on the original, real one: "primordial dwarfism" (from which Grass's Oskar suffers) becomes "primordial gigantism" (Paul) in Hensel's text. The author also describes in detail how the GDR health care system desperately but ineffectually tries to cure Paul, rather than to control or to ignore him, by sending him to physical therapy and wrapping him in a plaster cast (153-159). Eventually Paul becomes a functioning member of society by studying geology, but it takes seven years after socialism's demise for Paul to "find himself" and briefly accept his destiny as a revolutionary "Neuer Mensch." Neither the GDR system nor the immediate historical event of unification contributes directly to controlling

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or healing him. In the end his body, symbolically intended to build socialism, ironically ends up being transformed into the image of a public relations representative, a stereotypical marketing vessel of capitalism (224). Paul distorts the "Neuer Mensch" ideal in more ways than one. A further body in Gipshut that is grotesque because it is out of control is Hensel's mother-figure Veronika Dankschön. Her body is not completely under her control because her low mental capacity prevents her from knowing how, or even wanting, to act with self-restraint. Her name unjustly attaches the stigma of promiscuity to her character in that it derives from the appellation the American Forces Network gave to venereal diseases to warn U.S. soldiers stationed in Germany after World War II against having intercourse with local women.79 Veronika's surname, "Dankschön," meaning "thank you nicely," is also ironic in that Veronika has little to be thankful for in her tragic life, born mentally retarded and receiving neither respect nor love from her husband Jochen or from her son, Hans. Her naiveté connects her to other naïve Eastern German characters whom one can both laugh at and empathize with, but it also leads to her ultimate unhappiness as she is rejected by her son for being too stupid to understand socialist ideas. Veronika's character thus also appears grotesque—highlighting the grotesque nature of the people and society around her—when juxtaposed with her ultra-rational and socialist son, Hans, and with what was idealized in Marxist-Leninist theory and in GDR rhetoric as a rational socialist society in general. Conceived to depict life in the GDR retrospectively, Veronika can be viewed positively as an example of how women, even if mentally disadvantaged, could find jobs, work hard, and support themselves there. Her low intellect and complete ignorance of socialism make her seem like another parody of a socialist positive hero, however, since she is exploited for her labor rather than encouraged to act or think independently. By depicting her as intellectually inferior, Hensel undermines the socialist tenet that all human beings can be educated to work together and further the development of socialism. Veronika works hard because she enjoys stacking boxes and jars, "[d]as Stapeln machte Veronika Dankschön Spaß," not because she understands Marxist-Leninist economic theories or the wider repercussions of her actions (13). Veronika's ignorance and _____________ 79

"Veronika Dankschön" was originally spelled with an "e" in the middle, as "Dankeschön" (Barbara Mabee, "'Die Republik ist im Kampf entstanden!': Antihelden und der Wechsel der Zeit als 'leichte[s] Umschalten eines Relais' in Kerstin Hensels Gipshut," An der Jahrtausendwende. Schlaglichter auf die deutsche Literatur, ed. Christine Cosentino, Wolfgang Ertl, and Wolfgang Müller, Frankfurt a. M.: Lang, 2003, 101-115, 105, fn. 11). Such scatologically connoted names like Hans Kielkropf's (boat keel + goiter bump), Anna Fricke's (sounds like "ficken"), or Polti Hörnle's ("poltern" + horny/cheated on) echo the lives of their bearers.

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playfulness place her outside totalitarian control, however, and the symbolic role she assumes in Gipshut as a representative of nature further excludes her from GDR society or any civilized community. It is questionable to what degree Veronika controls her life until she commits suicide in one truly autonomous act. The normality of her life is shattered when her parents are traumatically killed in the war. She perceives this war as a grotesquely personified, hungry monster: "Ihre Vorstellung war, der Krieg habe sie als sie sich im Wald versteckt hielten, wie Kartoffeln aus dem Sand gezogen und aufgefressen" (8). Because of her low mental capacity and lack of parental or other guidance, Veronika never really takes control of her own body and grows up amorally. Behaving like a six-year-old, although she is sixteen, she gives in to childlike flights of fancy driven solely by her desire for pleasure. She makes messes with her pencils and fountain pens at school, tickling herself with the pen's feather instead of writing with it, builds castles and fortresses with food cans at the warehouse, gets pregnant and gives birth to Hans without realizing she is carrying a baby until his head emerges from her body (12-13, 20-21). The story of Hans's conception is significant because it introduces several grotesque narrative, symbolic, and linguistic motifs that recur throughout the novel. The novel's numerous, unsuccessful male-female relationships, the Siethener Lake as a symbolic site for birth, renewal, and fantastical events, and the recurring "Gips" motif all have their genesis in Hans's conception and birth. Veronika becomes pregnant without knowing it when she is violated in the warehouse where she works together with her rapist, a forklift operator nicknamed "Gabelstapler Jochen." One day Jochen fools the sixteen-year-old Veronika into having intercourse with him by convincing her she must mount him and rock back and forth in order to fix the forklift's jammed motor. Once she is on top of him, Jochen repeatedly rams the forklift into a pile of plaster sacks, while the narrative becomes grotesque by alternating between the rape scene and the temporally much later birth scene, which become intertwined as if they were occurring simultaneously: Jochen hatte die Motorblockierung zu lösen versucht, indem er mit einer Hand den Rückwärtsgang einlegte und mit der anderen das Mädchen hatte aufsitzen lassen. Veronika preßte. Jochen hatte sich weiter vorangeschoben. Veronika drückte, den Kopf halb unter Wasser. Weiße Wolken waren durch das ganze Lager gezogen; Mädel! Mädel! hatte Jochen gestöhnt und war tiefer in Veronika und mit dem Gabelstapler in die Säcke gestoßen. Mit der letzten Schmerzwoge rutschte das Kind aus Veronika heraus (21).

Hensel weaves these two scenes of sexual intercourse and birth together by alternating from sentence to sentence between them, meshing them

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together like the teeth on a gear wheel (20-21). The text thus grotesquely mimics the two physical acts in that the short sentences describing one scene enter into the sentences describing the other, like the actual act of intercourse or birth, in which the bodies of two separate individuals become intertwined. This narrative meshing is also grotesque in that it is unexpected, interrupting what had begun as a linear, Realist narrative, and because Hensel's descriptions are simultaneously horrifying and ridiculous. What could otherwise be construed as a brutal rape and dangerous, unaided birth are ironically broken by the obvious pleasure Veronika feels on both occasions ("es war ein Spaß gewesen!" [21]), despite their unusual circumstances and obvious painfulness. Hans's surprise birth, embedded within this rape scene, occurs in the middle of the woods in the nearby Siethener Lake because Veronika did not understand the ramifications of Gabelstapler Jochen's actions. The bizarre circumstances of this birth do not really harm Veronika, however, for she is perfectly capable of bearing him on her own and is ecstatically happy when he appears. Bowing to social pressure, Jochen marries Veronika a few months later, but deserts her soon thereafter because of her mental debility and the family's squalid living conditions. Veronika's ignorance of her body and grotesque lack of control over it thus have disturbing, morally ambiguous connotations. Her character breaks with social conventions and taboos—though not through any intentions of her own—and depicts a mode of existence outside socialist totalitarian control, but also outside the bounds of any society. Veronika's encounters with other people further solidify her position as bound to the natural world and an outsider to "civilized" society. After giving birth to Hans, Veronika is discovered by a Freie Deutsche Jugend group and their leader, who display a shock that emphasizes the rift between her and other, more "rational" people. The youths have come to the lake with their group leader for the "Praktische Verdeutlichung des Biologie- und Geschichtsunterrichts in freier Natur," during which they should learn to identify, conceptualize, and sing about the natural world, but not necessarily to commune with it or feel part of it (23-30). The group leader Stötzer is quite concerned about how to include the event pedagogically in his "Lehrstundenprotokoll" and describes it obtusely as "die natürliche Einbindung von Zufällen in das gesellschaftliche Gesamtsystem," which turns the perfectly natural event into a scientific theorem. Veronika, by contrast, lives in direct symbiosis with this natural world: "Wie lange sie sich schon im Wasser des Sees mit der Natur verbündete, hatte sie nicht im Gefühl. Gleichgültig alle Zeit" (23-24). Finding the group, she just wants her immediate needs for food and warmth met, and is unconcerned with what its members think of her. The

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fact that Veronika experiences life as immediate sensory input, without analyzing or attaching any moral significance to it, ties her to the world of nature. The socialist ideology has no control over her. Veronika also inverts satirically another grotesque East German mother figure, Lucie Uhltzscht from Helden wie wir, responding perhaps to Brussig's association of the GDR mother with bourgeois propriety. Whereas Brussig depicts Lucie and her generational compatriot, the real GDR author Christa Wolf, as intellectual, matriarchal supporters and perpetuators of socialism, Veronika is their perfect unintellectual foil. She is indifferent to bourgeois sexual morals, not having been taught about them; her apartment, built next to a pigsty, perpetually stinks; she cannot further the cause of socialism because she does not understand the concept; and her desperate, sincere attempts to take care of her son meet his condescending refusal to accept her as she is. Her uncontrollable body, like Mario Zwintzscher's clever and slippery picaresque persona in Der Quotensachse, subverts both Brussig's and Hensel's earlier literary images of socialism's overly controlling and controlled bodies.80 Hensel's Ironic and Grotesque Language: Hensel's use of diverse language styles and registers also binds her novel to other Eastern German satires as it juxtaposes formal-sounding, official GDR rhetoric, which Kathrin Schmidt has compared to a "Brigadetagebuch,"81 overdetermined conglomerations common to the Baroque period or novels such as Grass's Blechtrommel, scientific and medical terminology, local dialects, and parodies of Romantic poetry, to produce a similarly cacaphonic and comical text. According to one of Carl Pietzker's definitions, Hensel's use of language can be considered grotesque because it displays a dichotomy between the narrated event and the generally either too formal or distant way it is narrated. The fearsome, threatening, or uncanny qualities of the grotesque—most powerfully illustrated by Braun's Schaber or Franz Kafka's prototypical narrators in Der Prozeß, Das Schloß, or Amerika/Der Verschollene—are generally lacking in Hensel's language, however. Because the language her narrator uses and what (s)he describes with it are so far apart as to appear comically _____________ 80 81

Ramona Hufschmied from Auditorium panopticum, a world-class GDR rollerskater and beloved representative of her country's prowess who is dominated by her trainer, is one such character. See Marven, Body and Narrative for an interpretation of this figure (24-25). Kathrin Schmidt, "Frühkindliche Infektion mit Gedrucktem. Ein konservatives Stück Text. Kerstin Hensels neuer Roman 'Gipshut,'" Freitag 41, 8 October 1999, 17 and .

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ridiculous, I believe it can best be described as the sustained, ironic language of epic humor.82 This technique misleads the reader into believing the narrative is objective and realistic, while at the same time breaking with this realism to tease and pass satiric judgment on the characters. Schmidt also refers to Hensel's language as a "Sprache von anscheinend hohem Ernst" (Schmidt, "Frühkindliche Infektion" 17). The fact that the oppressive GDR conditions Hensel depicts no longer exist and the fantastical events could not actually occur (as opposed to the very real, threatening contexts in which Kafka's or Braun's texts are embedded) further deflate any horrors Hensel unleashes. As in most Eastern German satire, Hensel also archives the official language of the GDR government and media by highlighting its absurdly technical, "objective" sound, which rings humorously in our ears today because it was used to describe the actions of real human beings—not machines—and it made basic societal structures appear unnecessarily complicated. Demonstrating the grotesque nature of "GDR-speak," Hensel immortalizes compound words like "Konsumgüterlagertechnik" and "Verkaufsstellenausschußmitarbeiterin" (15, 34). Like the authors belonging to a post-1989 German pop literature generation, she archives the now funny-sounding names of GDR consumer products such as "Ura-Mol Feinmechanikeröl," "Maizena-Speisewürze," and "GotanoWermut" (14, 62, 109). Such historical references bring back memories and amuse us today for their foreign, funny, or unpleasant sounds. Brand names like "Nudossi," given to a GDR version of the West German chocolate-hazelnut cream "Nutella," mimic and parody the original, in this case more melodious, Italian-sounding Western product names.83 Occasionally, Hensel's language enters the grotesque mode by linking canonical literary works with scatological acts, or bodies with landscapes (99-100). Sometimes she has her characters interject sophisticated socialist rhetoric into everyday situations where such use of language can appear ludicrous, threatening, and/or pathological because it turns humans into objects to be converted to socialism at all cost (153-154, 214-215). Her animals and fairy-tale figures can also opt to threaten death to her characters in quaint-sounding rhymed couplets (162). Midway through the novel Hensel attacks the canonical author Goethe, like Thomas Rosenlöcher does in his Harzreise, by pulling him _____________ 82 83

Wolfgang Preisendanz, Humor als dichterische Einbildungskraft. Studien zur Erzählkunst des poetischen Realismus, 2nd. ed. (München: Fink, 1976) 11, 15. The name "Nudossi" sounds particularly comical from an English-language perspective, as it combines the English word "nude" with the post-unification neologism "Ossi" to signify "naked East German." The word most certainly did not have this connotation within East Germany, however, and most Germans will not catch this English pun.

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down to the level of the comically profane. The pertinent scene occurs just as Anna finds her true identity hiking in the Alps. The coupling of historical, ecstatic, or otherwise eye-opening experiences with the scatological or grotesque is a humorous technique common to all authors in this study, and Hensel is no exception. Arguably the funniest scene in Gipshut takes place when Anna becomes trapped by a thunderstorm in a tight, Alpine mountain cave with her soon-to-be second lover, the geology professor Polti Hörnle, who flatulates odorifically then cites several verses from Goethe's Faust. Zweiter Teil. In this carnivalesque monologue, Mephistopheles describes the creation of the Earth and Hell, but Hensel places the verses in a new context so they become an "ode to gas": [...] Wir fanden uns bei allzu großer Hellung In sehr bedrängter, unbequemer Stellung. Die Teufel fingen sämtlich an zu husten; Von oben und von unten auszupusten; Die Hölle schwoll von Schwefelstank und -säure, Das gab ein Gas! Das ging ins Ungeheure, So daß gar bald der Länder flache Kruste, So dick sie war, zerkrachend bersten mußte. Nun haben wir's an einem andern Zipfel, Was ehmals Grund war, ist nun der Gipfel. Sie gründen auch hierauf die rechten Lehren, Das Unterste ins Oberste zu kehren. [. . .] 84 (99-100)

Linking Hörnle's disgusting fart with Mephistopheles's description in Act Four, "Hochgebirg," of Faust, describing the creation of Earth, Hell, and the overturning of mountains and valleys (implying the overturning of societal structures) displays a grotesque humorous incongruity. The scene merges the human body with the natural landscape in a RabelaisianBakhtinian manner, turning flatulence into a metaphor for social upheaval. Having Professor Hörnle, a successful and respected scientist, engage so openly in such behavior, undermines his authority and that of his geological profession. These lines also foreshadow the volcanic eruption that occurs at the novel's end, although within the Alpine context they are cited to provoke laughter and thereby to diffuse the embarrassment of the moment, bearing no actual prescriptive message. Blowing up and then deflating potential symbols and hidden meanings like these characterizes Gipshut's tricky, slippery satire. Through careful narrative construction, Hensel also demonstrates how the presence or absence of various types of language can lead to miscommunication, the growth or breakdown of relationships, or even _____________ 84

Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, "Faust. Zweiter Teil," Werke, vol. 3 (Munich: Beck, 1988) 305.

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death. The numerous unsuccessful relationships developed in Gipshut add to its grotesque qualities. Veronika and Hans's inability to establish meaningful or lasting relationships with other people is exacerbated by their inability to communicate with them verbally. Veronika cannot talk properly because she is mentally retarded, and thus invites the reader's pity. Her use of the Northern German dialect matches her geographical location and low intelligence: "Ham wa wat zu essen? Ick ha'n Schweinshunger" (29). Hans, conversely, speaks on such an exaggeratedly high linguistic register that he appears ridiculous. Although he writes constantly as a journalist, and is quite capable of writing well, he uses language exclusively for propaganda purposes, thereby alienating most people he encounters. His sophisticated speech mimics the MarxistLeninist philosophy he studies, as well as official GDR rhetoric. Linguistic sophistication in his case is rendered meaningless, since he speaks and writes with unnecessary syntactic complexity and repeats empty phrases without actually understanding the complex ideas they represent. In interpersonal relationships and daily life, by contrast, Hans is virtually mute. He struggles to write a simple letter to the young party activist Ilona Krautjunk with whom he had a brief love affair while studying at the university in Leipzig, because he is unable to express emotions or to generate original ideas. Later, as a soldier, he vows to keep a diary of his trials and tribulations during basic training so that he can improve army training techniques in future, but this diary can only exist in his head: "Ich werde Tagebuch schreiben. Wissend, daß Tagebuchschreiben verboten war, nahm er den Vorsatz rein gedanklich. Dieses Ziel gab ihm Kraft […]" (139). The paradox between Hans's seemingly high intellect and lack of communication skills produces a classic, tragicomic character. Miscommunication and the improper use of language add to a narrative otherwise filled with incongruities and disruptions. Hensel also critiques the language of the free market for distracting her characters Anna and Paul from their life's mission to explore the Brandenburg volcano and for generally causing them to forget their pasts. Anna and Paul need to learn this new language when they lose their research funding in order to find a new job marketing the Berliner Stadtschloss as a tourist attraction: verpflanzt aus dem deutsch-deutschen Forschungsteam [...], fühlen sie sich manchmal klein und verkrampft auf den Stühlen hocken, wo ihnen etwas von Kommunikation, Interaktion, Transaktion und Rezeption beigebracht wird, denn in diese Richtung sollen sie umgeschult werden: in Fachkräfte für Kommunikations- und Öffentlichkeitsarbeit [...]. Sie sitzen und lernen eine neue Sprache." (209)

But this language also empties their heads of their earlier ideals:

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Endlich haben sie einen Auftrag erhalten, der keiner unnützen Hypothese nachjagen will, endlich ist es die Realität, die sie herausfordert. Abends, wenn sie zusammenliegen und nicht schlafen können, denken sie manchmal an ihre alten Erkundungen. Sie liegen in ihren Erinnerungen so weit zurück, daß sie ihnen wie fossile Irrtümer erscheinen. Vielleicht war die vergangene Zeit ja auch nur ein Vorleben gewesen, eine umständliche Prüfung für das Eigentliche. (215-216)

Other authors in this study have critiqued the language of Western Germany for sounding artificial, pretentious, or confusing, but Hensel attributes to this language the frightening and threatening power to make Eastern Germans forget their past. Most striking about Hensel's language in this text are the dozens of meanings and word combinations she finds for the word "Gips." The grotesque images and events in Gipshut are underpinned by the repetition of this word, which appears in surprisingly diverse and unexpected contexts. As related above, the Brandenburg volcano is plugged with a huge, geological gypsum cap, but sacks of plaster also line the walls of the village Konsum warehouse, and plaster clouds accompany Hans Kielkropf's conception. Walter Ulbricht's "Gipsbüste" graces the office of the local SED party representative (34), and in order to correct Paul's skeletal deformities caused by his gigantism, he is wrapped in "Gipsverbände," "Gipsbinde[n]" and "Gipsstiefel" (155, 157). Hensel's reiteration of the word "Gips," at first seemingly playful in nature, comes to resound like a grotesque parody of a literary motif or symbol, resembling Braun's manipulation of the word Wende in Der Wendehals. Rather than functioning as a true literary symbol, the word "Gips" parodies such symbols by appearing in too many different forms and contexts, and thus possessing too many potential interpretations. It is a linguistic and symbolic example of the "unstable grotesque." Despite its protean nature, a few possible interpretations of this parody of a symbol shall be explored here to demonstrate its potentially powerful meanings. "Gips" or plaster is a soft, porous material used to coat walls, to create casts and molds for statues and decorative ornaments, and to stiffen surgical bandages. Coating her characters' bodies in white dust or plaster casts, Hensel hides their sexuality or heals them, altering them from their original state. Uli Linke explains the meaning of whiteness and white bodies within the German context, providing one possible explanation for Hensel's overuse of this white motif: Whiteness in Germany is […] haunted by visions of white bodies that attempt to recall the imagery of classicism, an imagery fixated on an aesthetics of the antimodern, and a corporeality that is always trying to erase traces of eroticism or

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displace it onto others in an effort to consolidate its appeal to a harmonious and cultivated nature.85

Repeating the word "Gips" over and over, and then liquidating both the earth and the plaster sculpture factory at which Hans Kielkropf works by destroying everything in a symbolic volcanic eruption resembling a male ejaculation, Hensel purges Germany of its attachment to classical, white images and bodies and to any ideological or moral notions of purity. Having Hans be the person to hasten this eruption, Hensel furthermore critiques the fact that ordinary people are generally not deemed worthy of being preserved and thus remembered in the form of plaster statues: "Warum nicht er? Warum Caesar, Marx und Madonna, warum nicht Hans Kielkropf?" (222). Cheryl Dueck first formulated this idea: "Others have dictated that men like Hans Kielkropf are insignificant and unworthy of historical representation. In the conclusion, Hans seizes hold of history, which has excluded him, and allows its illusions and myths to explode."86 The most overt "Gips" symbol in the novel is its title, however, which refers to the underground volcano. In the construction industry, "Gipsplomben," or "plaster plugs," are placed in cracks to determine whether they are growing larger because of structural instabilities and thus might pose a threat to the integrity of a building. Having her "Gipshut" crack and eventually burst in a volcanic eruption whose epicenter is located beneath the Palast der Republik—"a controversial GDR icon in post-unification Berlin, partly a sentimental location of past ideals, but also an asbestos-contaminated building that constituted a physical manifestation of the regime's poison"—Hensel symbolically purges Berlin of the GDR state (Dueck 7). Since Berlin is now the capital of unified Germany, she also intimates that not only the GDR, but also the FRG, was/is built on weak, temporary plaster foundations and thus both are doomed to disintegrate. As the capital city of the Kingdom of Prussia, the Second and Third Reichs, the GDR, and unified Germany, Berlin stands for all of Germany. The final grotesque, apocalyptic event thus not only represents the imaginary devastation of Berlin, but also the annihilation of several centuries of German history. The broiling volcano may also simply represent the "explosive potential" of the postwall political situation (Dueck 7). The cap's existence beneath the earth from Brandenburg to Berlin indicates that a tectonic fault line ran through the GDR, with the Berlin Wall bulging like a mountain range along the unstable fissure. The fact that this fault line runs north to south, from the Siethener Lake in Brandenburg down to Berlin, and not east to west like the Berlin Wall did, _____________ 85 86

German Bodies: Race and Representation after Hitler (Oxford, UK: Routledge, 1999) 30. "Past and Plaster: Kerstin Hensel's Volcanic Satire in Gipshut," unpublished presentation, Modern Language Association Conference, New Orleans, 29 December 2001, 8.

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further exemplifies Hensel's ambiguously skewed symbolism, which ties her work to similar, late twentieth-century postmodern trends. Grotesque Narratives Part 1: The Picaresque Antagonist Like the texts in Chapter 2, Hensel's novel flaunts a male protagonist whose fictional biography parallels GDR history and who seems to fit the mold of traditional German picaresque antiheroes like Heinrich Mann's Diederich Heßling from Der Untertan. Because Hensel's protagonist Hans possesses striking similarities to Brussig's narrator in Helden wie wir, it will be fruitful to look at how she alternatively adapts the picaresque to an East German setting by comparing Hans's biography to Klaus Uhltzscht's. As we shall observe later in the fairy tale/fantastic and quest novel sections, also featuring narrative distortion, Hensel develops the picaresque genre grotesquely by inverting some of its conventions and thereby disconcerting the reader, who should otherwise recognize the protagonist's biography as picaresque. Obvious picaresque characteristics of Hans's biography include: 1) his unusual birth; 2) his outsider status in the GDR, despite, but also because of, his conformity to socialist dictates; 3) the fact that his life remains unheroic, as his efforts to build socialism fail; 4) his perpetual naiveté and optimism regarding the eventual victory of socialism, which allow him to survive in difficult or hostile environments, but also lead him to commit "crimes" against his fellow citizens, produce a friction between the discursive intent of his character (to promote socialism) and the reality of his existence (the GDR's socialist system is exposed as untenable and the lack of GDR citizen support for such a system becomes apparent as his life story is told); 5) his position as both perpetrator and victim; 6) the fact that he travels to various geographical locations and interacts with people from different social backgrounds, thereby moving first up, then back down the social ladder; and, finally, 7) its episodic narrative form. Any immediate expectations raised that Hans's life may follow the conventions of a Bildungsroman are dashed early on when the reader realizes that Hans learns nothing from his mistakes and thus is a static character. Though containing many picaresque features, Hensel's narrative nevertheless deviates from the generic model in four major ways. First, instead of standing alone like other, monologic picaresque narratives, Hans's biography is embedded in a larger narrative context with three other protagonists and two parallel plot strands. Second, Hensel shifts the focus of traditional picaresque satirical attacks from society as a whole onto Hans as an exaggerated character type. Third, Hans's rogue-like acts,

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which do not break laws, but do defy moral honor codes, redefine traditional picaresque crimes. Lastly, his is not the usual reflective, firstperson confessional narrative. This section begins by illustrating how Hans's biography sets up expectations that it will conform to picaresque conventions, and by comparing Hensel's use of the picaresque with Brussig's in Helden wie wir. It then moves to explanations as to why Hensel's narrative bursts these expectations in the latter three ways mentioned above, the first deviation requiring no further elaboration. Hans's biography begins with the newsworthy circumstances surrounding his remarkable birth, which is a typical characteristic of the picaresque genre. Hans's birth in a lake appears ironic in the context of the novel because, although it should tie him to nature and to his geographical origin, it does not. Hans despises his simple, rural past and attempts, albeit unsuccessfully, to remain in the city of Leipzig after completing his journalism degree there. Unusual by any standards, this birth sets the stage for Hans's life as a picaresque social reject. Hans's unique, unattractive surname "Kielkropf," given to him by a GDR journalist covering the story of his birth, like the socialist term "Neuer Mensch" Hans applies erroneously to the disabled giant Paul, is an example of the grotesque literalization of metaphors in Gipshut. It inscribes Hans's unusual boatside birth on his person, likening his emergence from Veronika's distended abdomen to an ailment like goiter because this ailment also produces a painful, unsightly protrusion lacking a visible cause. Katharina Döbler ties the name Kielkropf to his character: "Kielkropf klingt unsympathisch und verklemmt und schreihalsig und irgendwie subaltern. Und genauso ist Hans. Ein richtiger Deutscher, genauer: ein Deutschdemokratischer zu über hundert Prozent".87 Hans and Klaus Uhltzscht thus share unusual births, cacophonic names, and an exaggerated East-Germanness. Like other East German picaresque characters, Hans is an unheroic protagonist who lives in a GDR depicted as a chaotic world and who travels from one conflict-ridden situation to another, acting as both victim and perpetrator. Hans further resembles Brussig's Klaus in that he also internalizes the GDR's socialist tenets and is willing to do just about anything to realize them. His tactics are so abhorrent, though, that Hensel's satire falls more heavily on Hans than on the people he encounters. This strategy shifts the focus compared to traditional picaresque novels that tend to highlight failings in the society in which the picaro lives. From an early age Hans _____________ 87

"Ein Deutscher namens Hans. Kerstin Hensels Roman 'Gipshut.'" Neue Zürcher Zeitung. Internationale Ausgabe 23 November 1999, 35.

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displays a megalomania similar to Klaus's. Honored to be inducted into the Socialist Unity Party as a university student, Hans resolves: Er war auf dem richtigen Weg: die große revolutionäre Aufgabe, die Initiative, der klare Standpunkt, die wissenschaftlich fundierte Strategie und Taktik zur weiteren Verwirklichung der historischen Mission—Hans riß den Kopf hoch, das Finale verklang, und er sagte: 'Ich weiß, was ich zu tun habe.' (114).

Conceiving himself as a prophet, rather than a Stasi official, his mission is to promote the blessings of socialism among the common folk. Hans commits "crimes" to convert people to his socialist beliefs, however, including coercion, betrayal, and holding long, boring speeches. Hans's journalist profession was considered in the GDR to be nearly as insidious as that of the Stasi official that Klaus represents, because of its ideological rigidity. While Brussig draws a clear line from Klaus's parents to Klaus's adult personality—his father's choice of the Stasi profession influences Klaus to join, and his mother's obsession with cleanliness and moral propriety leads to his perverse obsessions—, Hans becomes an ideologue by reading the local newspaper and taking its propaganda literally (47-48). His high mental capacity and devotion to socialism stand in stark contrast to his mother's simplicity and his absent father's irresponsibility. Whereas picaresque characters expose society's failings, and this is also true for Gipshut, Hensel focuses the brunt of her critiques in this plot strand on Hans as an archetypal ideologue, and not on GDR society or equally on his character and on his family and peers as Brussig does in Helden wie wir. Though born in a village, Hans's high aspirations lead him to travel like a picaro quite extensively for a GDR citizen, excluding him from the stereotype of Eastern Germans as homebodies who did not travel because they were denied access to western nations. On his journeys Hans confronts many different types of people, most of whom are not depicted as typical socialist conformists. From his hometown Hans first moves to Leipzig for his studies and a hospital practicum; later, he serves in the military on the Baltic Sea island of Rügen; in the fall of 1989 he flies to Moscow and several Soviet republics for a news story. After unification he loses his job and falls ill, finally ending up in Berlin as a security guard, asbestos remover, and, like his working-class father had been, a forklift operator. As diverse as these experiences may be, the results remain consistent: Hans's efforts to further socialism are thwarted. Judging from most of his encounters, the vast majority of GDR (and Soviet) citizens was either opposed, ignorant, or indifferent to furthering socialism in their countries. In fact, they punish him both mentally by shunning, and physically by hazing, for attempting to indoctrinate them with socialist ideals. One reason Hensel conceives Hans's biography as picaresque is to

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place him into diverse situations so that his interactions can serve as concrete examples of why the socialist project failed in the GDR. Hans's mother Veronika and the other citizens in Hans's hometown of Nudow represent the working-class, village mentality that Hans ironically despises. Hans is satirized here more harshly than they are because he does not respect them, despite his devotion to the socialist ideology, which promotes the elevation of the working classes to the pinnacle of society. The villagers frustrate him because they obey government orders without understanding the higher socialist goals behind these orders. After the Second World War, they restructure the food storage and distribution system in the local warehouse because they need work, and not necessarily to further the socialist cause. When the regional trainer explains "die optimale Platzausnutzung von Lagerflächen" to bolster the socialist economy, "Veronika hatte mit den Schultern gezuckt und nicht verstanden" (13). Ignorance and lack of understanding of socialist tenets are Hensel's explanations for the failure of socialism among the real working classes: "In der Redaktion grübelte er [Hans] über das Verhalten der einfachen arbeitenden Bevölkerung, zu welcher seine Mutter ja zählte. Schwierig, ihr begreiflich zu machen, was der eigentliche Sinn des Lebens war" (152). She pokes fun at these villagers for their ignorance, but Hans comes across as a worse figure and a self-selected outsider for being intellectually arrogant and contemptuous of them. His condescending attitude appears hypocritical because his own, narrowminded intellect is not really superior to theirs. The educated students at the Karl-Marx-Universität in Leipzig similarly frustrate Hans by shirking their duties and displaying apathy toward socialist ideals. Unlike the villagers, they understand the ideology, but they are exasperated by its rhetoric, which they find meaningless and uninspiring. When Hans tries to convince them in a speech that he is an "aktiver Neuerer des Lebens," whom they should emulate, they react with boredom and indifference: "'Laß gut sein', sagte ein Kommilitone zu ihm" (126). "Das Mädchen, das Hansens erste Mensabekanntschaft war [...], stand von seinem Fensterplatz auf und verkündete: 'Ich habe meine Tage'" (126). She and several other students leave the lecture hall, until a "Restgrüppchen [...] müde und pflichtbewußt bestätigte, was Hans seinen ersten Erfolg genannt hatte" (126). They punish him by keeping their distance from him for attempting to indoctrinate them, further cementing his picaresque outsider status. Later, as a journalist, Hans continues to overestimate his societal role, convinced he can write articles that will contribute to socialist efficiency and influence government economic planning, but his articles are so slanted they can only be read as examples of officially sanctioned state propaganda (74, 152).

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The above depictions of wide strata of GDR citizens either as oblivious or indifferent to socialist propaganda indicates that Hensel's barbs are aimed less pointedly at these citizens in general, and instead focus on the specific type of ideologue Hans Kielkropf represents. Possessing an extreme moral rightiousness and dogmatism, his inability to reach these uncooperative citizens provides an explanation for socialism's demise. Whereas Hans represents a "deformed," conformist socialist citizen of the type depicted in Michael Schmitz's book Wendestress: Die psychosozialen Kosten der deutschen Einheit, Hensel's broader judgment of GDR citizens in general contradicts this view. In Gipshut, nearly all East Germans oppose the imposition of the socialist ideology—a further distortion of reality in the novel, since many supported socialist ideals and reaped benefits from the way their society was structured. Nevertheless, this argument for why the GDR failed as a socialist experiment, reflected in the ways various social groups like warehouse workers or students treat Hans, are developed in confrontational episodes as in a picaresque novel. Despite Hans's affinities with other picaresque protagonists, his biography does not correspond to that of a traditional picaresque rogue because it is driven by a conformist, ideologue mentality. Picaresque protagonists typically struggle to survive within a society that rejects them, committing crimes for their own, personal gain and not for the betterment of this society. In his efforts to conform to GDR expectations of a proper citizen, Hans refrains from circumventing the rule of law like the usual picaresque rogue, deluding himself into believing his actions will better society. Thus, instead of maneuvering his way into and then out of difficult or dangerous situations as other picaresque protagonists typically do, Hans can only work his way into unresolvable situations by using inappropriate tactics in what he believes to be earnest efforts to further the Marxist-Leninist cause. With this narrative strategy, Hensel reveals an inherent contradiction between the picaresque genre and Marxist-Leninist philosophy. The picaresque genre focuses on the outsider as a truly socially disconnected individual who is, however, a necessary component of his society because of his ability to view it critically. The MarxistLeninist theory of the integration of all citizens within socialist society, by contrast, envisions a collective in which critiques can only emerge from "inside the fold," and thus it has no place for real outsiders. In creating a grotesque, pseudo-picaresque character like Hans, Hensel points out the failure of the GDR system to incorporate all citizens into its fold, for which failure Hans's repulsive behavior serves as a compelling reason. His "crimes" are all ideologically motivated and take the form of breaks with uncodified rules of familial love and respect, interpersonal relations, or peer camaraderie. Denouncing his pitiably ignorant yet nurturing mother

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in the context of a university seminar because he suspects her of watching West German television earns him the disgust of his fellow students at the Karl-Marx-Universität Leipzig (79-81). When he betrays his insubordinate physiotherapist colleagues for playing around with high-pressure hoses, reporting their activities to the director of the hospital at which he absolves his final practicum, they exact revenge by fooling him into massaging a corpse (119-122).88 The ultimate irony of Hans's biography is that by committing these dishonorable acts and thereby striving to be a perfect socialist insider, Hans becomes the ultimate, pseudo-picaresque outsider. Needless to say, Hans's efforts do not succeed in furthering socialism; however, the punishments he receives may provoke derisive laughter. Laughter, according to Henri Bergson, results when a person is observed acting mechanically, not thinking before (s)he acts, or only acting based on an idée fixe, tripping and falling in a literal and/or figurative sense (Bergson 66-73). By getting the reader to laugh at Hans for his failed mechanical attempts to promote socialism, Hensel prevents the narrative from appearing in any way ostalgic. Like Brussig, Hensel taps into the picaresque genre to point out how the socialist ideology could be misused when interpreted incorrectly or by the wrong type of person. Hensel's third major deviation from the picaresque genre is Hans's general lack of self-reflection. Hensel renders Hans unable to reflect on his own actions by narrating his biography in the third person, an atypical voice for a picaresque novel. Instead of allowing him to look back on his life and tell his own story from a reflexive and reflective first-person point-of-view, thereby granting him the possibility to "confess" his crimes and seek sympathy or understanding for them in typical picaresque style, Hensel keeps the narrative reins firmly in her third-person narrator's hands. The ways Hensel separates Hans's character from traditional picaresque storytellers can be seen in the following rare moment in which the narrator describes Hans pondering the meaning of his past life: Worüber Hans Kielkropf, in Laken und Decken vermummt, überhaupt nicht gern nachdachte, obwohl es ihn vor allzu schnellem Einschlafen bewahren konnte, waren die vergangenen Jahre seines Lebens. Es war ihm regelrecht zuwider, rückwärts prüfend die Zeit zu kreuzen, denn unwillkürlich traf er auf Komisches und Gemeines, auf seine Herkunft, die ihm so lächerlich erschien, daß er hätte weinen mögen. Selbst seine kindlichen Heldentaten, die ihn schnell und in der richtigen Art reifen ließen und an die er glaubte, kamen ihm mit zunehmendem Verstreichen der Zeit albern vor. (127)

_____________ 88

The image of Hans massaging a dead corpse may be a cynical but witty metaphor for socialist efforts to revitalize the dying GDR state.

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Other, past and more recent picaresque protagonists are driven by a compulsion to share their life experiences, both good and bad, and to entertain their audience with hyperbolic descriptions of their exploits. Hans, by contrast, does not enjoy thinking about his own life and also does not address an external audience. Instead, it is the narrator who pulls Hans's strings like a puppet, turning him into a sad, grotesque caricature of a picaresque rogue. Telling his story using an external narrator also denies him the ability to realize that he and his cohorts have led to socialism's failure by acting dictatorially and provoking the antipathy of their fellow citizens. Hensel has stated that she consciously chooses not to grant her characters the ability to reflect on their actions so as to avoid pathos and plaintiveness.89 This lack of self-reflection also distinguishes Hans as a literary figure from the narrator Klaus, whom Brussig has reflect with obvious glee and ironic distance on his dysfunctional past life. Like all post-1989 texts set there, the real, historical end of the GDR pervades any perception of Gipshut, influencing its reception and analysis. By limiting Hans's ability to reflect on his biography, Hensel compels the reader to take on this reflective role. When viewed from the present, Hans's constant cyclical striving and failure to achieve his socialist goals can easily be condemned as fruitless and absurd. Though a strong socialist supporter who was recognized and rewarded by the state for his propagandistic newspaper articles, Hans paradoxically avoids participating in any significant political events (152). He is not a "hero" like Klaus, who opens the Berlin Wall. Unlike Klaus and the other picaresque protagonists in Chapter 2 who find ways to manipulate the GDR system, experience freedoms within it, and achieve success in unified Germany, Hans is portrayed as a perpetual loser, unable to find happiness in any society. Tapping into the picaresque genre's episodic form allows Hensel to punish similar ideologues retrospectively. Pummeling Hans with psychological and physical abuse in scene after scene, she exacts grotesque, symbolic revenge against a repressive bureaucracy and its inevitably ineffectual attempts to convince citizens to internalize the socialist ideology.

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See Birgit Dahlke's discussion of Hensel's conscious avoidance of the "Ich-Form" of narrative and her 1993 interview with Hensel on this topic (Papierboot. Autorinnen aus der DDR—inoffiziell publiziert, Würzburg: Königshausen and Neumann, 1997, 156, 270). In the interview Dahlke also mentions the remarkable fact that Hensel is the only female German author she knows to write in the comic and satiric modes (270). Other satirical works by female authors have appeared since unification, however, such as Brigitte Burmeister's Unter dem Namen Norma (1994) and Helga Königsdorf's Die Entsorgung der Großmutter (1997).

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Grotesque Narratives Part 2: Fairy Tales and the Fantastic Fairy tales are well known for their grotesque, fantastical characters and scenes. Witches, trolls, and dwarves are by definition ugly, grotesque figures, albeit existing within an established literary genre and thus not always being perceived as such. Although the fairy tale genre—at least the traditional Volksmärchen if not necessarily the Kunstmärchen—has by definition not been fettered to a specific historical time period or political event,90 Peter Arnds takes a different view of fairy tales written in the twentieth century. He argues that "[t]he fairy tale in Germany in the 20th century is an ideal genre for showing how history determines the uses and abuses of fiction and how then this very fiction can be used in different ways to represent history".91 Arnds refers here to the National Socialist manipulation of traditional German fairy tales for propaganda purposes, as well as postwar German writers' and visual artists' use of fairy tales and the fantastic to expose this manipulation. Critiques in fairy tale form of GDR and unified Germany's attempts at ideological manipulation may also be found in post-1989 texts, however, not only in Hensel's Gipshut, but also in Im Spinnhaus and in Schirmer's Schlehwein's Giraffe and Rosenlöcher's Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern. Not all readers of Gipshut extract meaning from its fairy tale and fantastic elements. Katharina Döbler, for instance, opines: "Im Lauf des Romans bieten sich allerlei Querverweise zur Deutung an. Da fliegen dem Leser die Metaphern, Symbole und magischen Verortungen nur so um die Ohren. Aber sie erweisen sich letztlich immer als blinde Spuren" (Döbler 35). Like Reinhild Steingröver, who discusses the narrative function of fairy tales and the surreal in Tanz am Kanal and Gipshut, I disagree with _____________ 90

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Stith Thompson defines the folktale as: "a tale of some length involving a succession of motifs or episodes. It moves in an unreal world without definite locality or definite creatures and is filled with the marvelous. In this never-never land humble heroes kill adversaries, succeed to kingdoms and marry princesses" (The Folktale, New York: Dryden, 1977, 8). Jack Zipes disputes the perception of fairy tales as timeless, however, in Fairy Tales and the Art of Subversion: The Classical Genre for Children and the Process of Civilization (New York: Wildman, 1983). See also Egon Schwarz's interpretation of fairy tales with utopian (or dystopian) messages in "Utopisches im Volksmärchen," Utopieforschung, vol. 3, ed. Wilhelm Vosskamp (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1985) 394-410, 404. David L. Smith argues that Hauff's Kunstmärchen critiques specific socio-economic problems emerging at the beginning of the nineteenth century, including the burgeoning capitalist struggle for economic gain and social status, and environmental exploitation along the Rhine River ("Zeit- und Gesellschaftskritik in Wilhelm Hauffs Das kalte Herz," Wilhelm Hauff. Aufsätze zu seinem poetischen Werk, ed. Ulrich Kittstein, St. Ingbert: Röhrig, 2002, 63-82). "On the Awful German Fairy Tale: Breaking Taboos in Representations of Nazi Euthanasia and the Holocaust in Günter Grass's Die Blechtrommel, Edgar Hilsenrath's Der Nazi & der Friseur and Anselm Kiefer's Visual Art." The German Quarterly 75.4 (2002): 422439, 422.

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Döbler's assessment that these symbolic, fantastic, and fairy tale elements always prove to be false leads.92 On the contrary, Hensel integrates them into her novel for several purposes, one of which is to break up the linearity of the narrative and highlight its artificiality, thus separating it from other, straightforward postwall texts. With the fairy tale genre, Hensel also combats multiple binaries: male versus female, East versus West, and fiction versus reality. On a philosophical level, she resists Hegel-inspired, Marxist dialectic views of history as a forward progression and of materialism as leading to a rationally organized, egalitarian society. She also disparages the primacy of the intellect in civilized societies like Germany. Reviving various Germanic and Slavic fairy tale traditions and injecting them with satire and humor, Hensel unleashes political criticisms previously discouraged in the GDR—though many were expressed, albeit in clandestine ways—and extends these critiques to unified Germany. Grotesque in and of themselves, Hensel's excessive use and mixing of these fairy tale elements adds to the grotesque confusion of the narrative. While scholars and reviewers like Cheryl Dueck, Birgit Dahlke, and Michael Schweizer have touched on the plot, characters, language, and use of the grotesque and satire in Hensel's novel, only Reinhild Steingröver has taken a close look at the ways the author incorporates fairy tales and the fantastic.93 Steingröver avoids interpretations of these fairy tales solely as satire and instead examines how Hensel employs various narrative and linguistic strategies to prevent her texts from being read too politically or from being pigeonholed into rigid generic categories. Like many Eastern German authors, in order to add aesthetic complexity and depth to her texts, Hensel draws extensively from world literature for her storylines, characters, and symbols. In Gipshut, the fairy tale genre asserts a common German cultural heritage and identity free of the East/West division, the "East" embodying here both Eastern German and Sorbian Slavic cultures. The traditional Brüder Grimm Volksmärchen, the German Romantic Kunstmärchen, the mysterious Lake Stechlin from Theodor Fontane's 1899 novel Der Stechlin, and the Sorbian/Wendish folktale of the Mittagsfrau serve as her main sources of intertextual fantastical material. These and other surreal elements blend with Hensel's own, colorful imagination to plunge her otherwise credibly realistic, though exaggerated, main characters into terrifying, fantastical experiences resembling grotesque fairy tales. Of primary significance to the narrative are for whom, when, and to what extent these fairy tale figures and fantastic events bear meaning. This section treats Hensel's references to Volksmärchen, _____________ 92 93

"'Not Fate – Just History': Stories and Histories in Tanz am Kanal and Gipshut," Kerstin Hensel, ed. Beth Linklater and Birgit Dahlke (Cardiff: U of Wales P, 2002) 91-106, 93. Dueck, "Past and Plaster"; Dahlke, "Traumtanz" 180-182; Schweizer 9; Steingröver 102-4.

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Kunstmärchen, Fontane, and the Mittagsfrau, beginning with her choice of the name "Hans" for her main character. Comparing Hans Kielkropf's biography and personality to fairy tale protagonists and their fates yields connections that indicate Hensel wanted his story not only to be read as picaresque, but also as a GDR-specific fairy tale. "Hans" is the most frequently used name in traditional Grimm folktales, appearing in "Hänsel und Gretel," "Hans im Glück," "Der Eisenhans," and "Der starke Hans," among others.94 The name "Hans" also refers to Ingeborg Bachmann's modern fairytale adaptation of Friedrich de la Motte-Fouqué's Romantic fairy tale "Undine," which Hensel adapted into the short story "Ulriche und Kühleborn," in which Bachmann addresses all men as Hans and calls them monsters: "Ihr Ungeheuer mit Namen Hans! […] Ihr Monstren mit den festen und unruhigen Händen […]."95 Hans's life also resembles that of a fairy-tale figure in its tragic, teleological thrust toward an end predetermined by his specific character traits. This comparison produces a friction with the narrative, however, whose linguistic and plot complexities are at odds with traditional fairy tales, which are passed down orally in colloquial language and widely popular because of their narrative simplicity. In this case Hans's narrow-minded hubris leads to disillusionment, professional failure, and apocalyptic destruction. Although this hubris distinguishes him from his Grimm fairy tale namesakes, comparing him to Hans im Glück offers insights into Hensel's satirical, moral messages. Hans im Glück, happy-go-lucky like his name, focuses on his immediate needs rather than realistically planning for the future. Hans trades his salary, a large gold nugget, for a horse to ease his journey, later the horse for a cow, the cow for a pig, etc., until he ends up with a grindstone that he loses. Despite being destitute, Hans remains optimistic: losing the stone, like losing the gold and so forth, represents for him a lifted burden rather than a loss. Hans Kielkropf is also lucky to ascend from a working-class, provincial background to the journalist profession (experiencing a benefit of GDR society), yet he cannot escape from being consumed by his obsession with socialism. He trades successful interpersonal relationships and emotional well-being for moral rectitude. Kielkropf resembles the fairy-tale character Hans im Glück in his naïve belief that every trade-off he makes is for the better, despite the fact that he loses friends and family along the way. His life choices stand in _____________ 94 95

Brüder Grimm, Kinder- und Hausmärchen (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1971) 116-125, 419-427, 635-643, 700-706. In its diminutive form "Hänsel" the name "Hans" appears self-referential for Kerstin Hensel (Hänsel = Hensel). Ingeborg Bachmann, "Undine geht," Undine geht, Das Gebell, Ein Wildermuth. Drei Erzählungen (Stuttgart: Reclam, 1984, orig. 1957), 3-12, 3.

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opposition to those of Hans im Glück, who acts impulsively without regard for the greater good, not caring to influence others with his decisions. Through Kielkropf's biography Hensel transmits the moral message that being a hardliner neither furthered the collective cause of socialism in the GDR, nor contributed to the happiness of individuals. Molding Kielkropf into an object of scorn and abuse—a technique common both to fairy tales and to satire—Hensel warns of the pitfalls of becoming consumed by any ideology. By selecting the name Hans for such an unfortunate character as Kielkropf, Kerstin Hensel implies that the "Glück" of the archetypal German "Hans" has run out. The next fantastic and fairy tale elements to discuss here are Fontane's Stechlin, the Sorbian Mittagsfrau, and the Romantic Kunstmärchen. The Siethener Lake near Hans's hometown, like Lake Stechlin in Fontane's novel, is the site of much fantastical activity in Gipshut. The Mittagsfrau first appears there, and its fantastical animals and other surreal properties alter the course of Anna and Paul's lives. Although the Mittagsfrau eventually appears to all four protagonists, she affects Hans and Veronika more negatively than Anna and Paul. All four characters live in an East(ern) Germany that Hensel depicts as conflict-ridden and comical, but it is through Anna and Paul's bond that an otherwise dark satire briefly offers a fairy-tale happy ending, common in Volksmärchen, dissolving as it does so the male-female and East-West binaries set up at the start of the book. Sent by the Geological Institute of Germisch-Partenkirchen and the University of Potsdam to seek the epicenter of a volcano supposedly located underneath the Siethener Lake, Anna and Paul are interrupted in their explorations by surreal experiences blending fairy tales and the fantastic. One of two mottos prefacing Gipshut is a quote from Der Stechlin, referring to a similar Brandenburg lake with fantastical properties: Alles still hier. Und doch, von Zeit zu Zeit wird es an eben dieser Stelle lebendig. Das ist, wenn es weit draußen in der Welt zu rollen und zu grollen beginnt [...]. Dann regt's sich auch hier, und ein Wasserstrahl springt auf und sinkt wieder in die Tiefe.96 (Hensel 5, Fontane 5)

Like Lake Stechlin, the Siethener Lake also reacts to turbulent political and natural events. This time German unification and a pending volcanic eruption have apparently awakened it, so that it unleashes surreal horrors _____________ 96

Fontane's description of Lake Stechlin's supernatural properties continues with the villagers' colorful rendition: "Das mit dem Wasserstrahl, das ist nur das Kleine, das beinah Alltägliche; wenn's aber draußen was Großes gibt, wie vor hundert Jahren in Lissabon, dann brodelt's hier nicht bloß und sprudelt und strudelt, dann steigt statt des Wasserstrahls ein roter Hahn auf und kräht laut in die Lande hinein" (5). Fontane's red rooster also appears to Anna and Paul as a "Purpurralle" (red-colored rail bird) at the Siethener Lake (Hensel 18). Its appearance indicates that an unusually powerful natural disaster has occurred somewhere, or soon will.

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on Anna and Paul. These horrors include extreme, nearly deadly temperature changes, as well as talking flowers and snakes like those found in Kunstmärchen such as "Klingsohrs Märchen" from Novalis's Heinrich von Ofterdingen or E.T.A. Hoffmann's Der goldene Topf (32, 65-67, 162). The stopping of time at noon and a nearly fatal encounter with the Mittagsfrau, referred to by Hensel with her original Sorbian name "Pschespoldnitza," round out the experiences (22, 31, 40, 45, 55, 67, 75, 85). Pschespoldnitza, a horrific female apparition dressed in white linen bearing a scythe, appears to those who dare to work during the noon hour when they should be resting.97 Demanding they tell her a story for exactly one hour, she threatens to cut off their heads if they refuse. These fairytale elements are rendered particularly incongruous by being injected into an official, scientific expedition. These experiences alter Anna and Paul's state of mind so that two young scientists acting at first as competitive rivals because of their gender and regional differences dissolve their animosity and fall in love. At the outset, Anna is aware of being a woman in a typically male research field. Thus, she pretends to be a Western German and strives to outperform Paul. Playing the sexist male role, Paul provokes her anger by insisting on calling her "Fräulein" instead of the usual "Frau," the appropriate West German address since the 1960s for any woman over the age of 18 (though "Fräulein" was still current in the GDR until the 1980s): "Verwöhntes Fräulein," sagt er. Das Wort Fräulein ist Anlaß für Anna, aufzuspringen und Beschwerde einzulegen: "Fräulein! Fräulein! Ich sage doch auch nicht Herrlein zu Ihnen." "Herrlein, mein Fräulein, ist im Duden auch nicht verzeichnet." (10)

Neither character receives Hensel's sympathy here, as Anna's "feminist" attitude is also debunked for its exaggerated defensiveness. The author uses this scene to demonstrate the need for a mind-altering experience in order to facilitate cooperation between these two scientists. When the two separate to walk around the lake and meet on the opposite shore, they receive this jolt. Soon after departing, their watches suddenly stop at twelve noon: "Wo ist der Weg? Wie spät? 'Zwölf', sagt er [Paul]. Der See schluckt die Zeit" (45). Paul soon becomes bewildered, and his beard begins to freeze as the temperature suddenly drops unbearably, while on Anna's side it rises to uncomfortable heights. Both characters struggle in these extreme environments and nearly perish before finding their way back to their tent. Although Hensel inserts Paul into a frozen landscape on the lake's left side, representing the brain's _____________ 97

"Die Sage um die Mittagsfrau," Infoportal zu Hoyerswerda, 2001, Art Effective, 30 January 2006 .

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rational hemisphere, and Anna into a tropical one on the right, symbolizing the brain's intuitive side—constructing binary spaces that mirror their binary genders—the results are the same. After their surreal experiences, Anna and Paul undergo a transformation. Their simultaneous suffering within unnaturally extreme climate conditions serves as a bonding experience; sharing this experience enables them to let go of their prior perceptions of reality and open up to one another as attractive individuals. Anna "sieht Norg plötzlich schön, versucht noch einmal, ihren Verstand zurückzuholen, läßt ihn aber wieder verdampfen" and "nimmt Paul Norgs Hand" (174). Paul likewise comprehends suddenly "was er all die Jahre nur als öde Phrase empfunden hatte: er ist der Neue Mensch, ein Mittler seiner Zeit, und die Zeit, von der zu reden wäre, hat eben begonnen" (174). Encouraged by his newfound love, the formerly insecure and untalkative Paul begins to speak, and finding his voice inspires him to seek higher ideals, thereby overcoming his earlier selfabsorption: Paul Norg beginnt zu reden. Er plappert und plaudert an Annas Seite, was immer ihm einfällt. Aus den Wörtern setzen sich Sätze zusammen, große Ideen entstehen. Von gewaltigen geologischen Funden ist die Rede, von einem Vulkanismus, den die Welt noch nicht erlebt hat und von einer Welt, die er, voll Liebe getankt, mit eigener Kraft errichten wird. Überzeugen will er die Freundin noch in dieser Nacht. Aus ihm heraus spricht bereits der Mensch, den man von ihm erwartet. (175)

The Mittagsfrau affirms this transformation: "Schnee und Eis machen nicht nur männliche Überheblichkeit, sondern auch die Erdschollen mürbe, auf daß sie später gut Früchte trügen" (111). Anna and Paul soon develop a strong emotional and sexual relationship, the erotic aspects of which Hensel later describes in detail, blending orgiastic corporeality with the fantastic to produce a grotesque scene that is a site of utopian ecstasy. Affecting Paul and Anna positively, fairy tales and the fantastic play quite different roles in Hans and Veronika's lives. Hans is too obsessed with socialist materialism to allow fantastical figures to affect him, and Veronika commits suicide after the Mittagsfrau visits her. These two characters are overdetermined, dichotomous symbols of narrow-minded socialist materialism versus nature/instinct, the ideologue Hans representing the extreme end of socialist rationalism and the instinctdriven, naïve Veronika representing the natural world. Unlike the gender binary, the binary of rationalism versus nature cannot be reconciled in Gipshut. The civilization process leads mankind away from nature, and nature here strikes back at its transgressions in the form of a fantastical volcano. Having Hans represent a skewed form of rationality and his

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mother represent the natural world, Hensel points out the tragic downsides of either position when taken to an extreme. Hensel's characters may suffer tragic fates, but these fates are often depicted humorously, this humor deriving largely from the incongruity between its tragic storyline and quirky narrative style. Fairy tales and fantastic scenes add to this humor. Although Hensel's characters rarely laugh and do not view themselves with self-irony, the reader easily laughs at many of their bumbles and mishaps when encountering fantastic characters or environments. One scene in the novel that demonstrates laughter's potential, ritual power occurs when the Mittagsfrau appears to Veronika, demanding she tell her a story. Because Pschespoldnitza represents agriculture and the domestication of nature,98 this scene drives home the novel's rationalism versus nature division. Instead of obeying Pschespoldnitza's demand, Veronika deflates her with a peal of laughter: Veronika Dankschön stand im Wohnzimmer vor dem flackernden Fernsehgerät, beide Hände in die Hüften gestützt, und lachte. Es war, als platze etwas in ihr und ließe einen Schwall Heiterkeit sich ihr in den Leib ergießen, der jedes Organ, jede Zelle erfasste und mit einer starkstromigen Energie den ungeladenen Gast hinaustrieb. Mit zitternden, aufeinandergepressten Lippen, bis zur Stirn in das Leinengewand versunken, verließ die Pschespoldnitza das Haus von Veronika Dankschön. [...] [G]egen das Gelächter, gegen dieses dumme, sinnlose Gelächter war sie machtlos. (179)

Veronika's is a laughter of despair, however. She hangs herself after the Mittagsfrau departs, because her "intellectual" son has spurned her for her simplicity and inability to comprehend socialist theory. Antje Baumann interprets Veronika's laughter thus: "Wenn Lachen ohne Worte bleibt, wenn es Sprache sogar verdrängt oder ersetzt, wird es ein Lachen ohne Zusammenhang, ohne Bezug und damit ohne Sinn: ein höllisches Gelächter, das alles zerstören, aber nichts mehr herstellen kann" (130).99 Just as Veronika renders the threatening Mittagsfrau powerless with laughter (though she then carries out her threat by committing suicide, one of the few genuinely shocking scenes in the novel), Hensel's _____________ 98 99

Because Paul cannot fulfill the Mittagsfrau's demand to speak to her, she accelerates time, forcing him to reap, sow, and weave clothing from flax all within the noon hour, imposing traditionally feminine labor on him but also asserting her power over the natural world. Antje Baumann analyses "Gegenwelten" like childhood/adulthood, animals/people, body/mind, and the spoken word/speechlessness as sources of humor and the comic in Gipshut, arguing that the comic prevents Hensel's text from being read unilaterally: "[s]o ist eine komische Darstellung von Leben in der DDR (und danach) geeignet, den politisch korrekten—also einheitlichen—Rückblick aufzubrechen und auf einer Vielfalt an Blickwinkeln zu bestehen. [...] Sie bietet uns den Genuss, den jede Dämmerung enthält: Zu fühlen, dass etwas Neues kommt, ohne zu wissen, was genau es sein wird (132).

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frequently funny satirical barbs allow the reader ultimately to dismiss the GDR bureaucracy and its Hans-style "intellectuals" as deflated bogeymen. These fantastic, fairy tale experiences bear meaning for Hensel's characters on the level of storyline, but also for the reader as Hensel's playful solution for gender and East-West conflicts, as well as philosophical critiques of human reason, the authority of science, and Marxist dialectic materialism. Her imposition of surreal scenes on the scientists Anna and Paul—both raised within a materialist, socialist society that renounced religion and superstition—indicates the author's desire to break free from the rigid, scientific tenets of the Marxist ideology. Science has no explanation for fantastical experiences such as these. Finally, the fantastic here reveals socialism and capitalism as artifices, which (like the city of Berlin) will ultimately be consumed by the inherent revolutions of nature, represented by the fantastical volcanic eruption. The idiosyncratic, overdetermined use of fairy-tale and fantastic scenes, considering Hensel's admiration of the Romantic authors, points toward her desire to counter the negative effects of unification with creative fabulation.100 On the one hand, this narrative and figurative intricacy, on a par with Braun's linguistic complexity in Der Wendehals, separates both texts from more clear-cut unification narratives, working against the essentialization or monolithic representation of the GDR or unification's effects. On the other hand, her excessive use of fairy tales and the fantastic eventually detracts from the text's literary quality, working against the conventions of a genre that originated in the form of brief, oral folktales characterized by simplicity and straightforward, archetypal plots. Hensel's 2003 novel Im Spinnhaus sticks more closely to this formula by breaking its fictional fairy tales into individual chapters. Gipshut confuses the reader by jumping from fantasy to reality, from talking animals to talking heads. The reasons for creating such confusion are discussed in the section after next that addresses the novel's multigenre structure.

_____________ 100 In an interview with Linklater and Dahlke in 2000, Hensel reveals her Latin American surrealist, Eastern European grotesque, and fairy-tale influences (Kerstin Hensel 18). References to her Romantic and fairy-tale influences are common in the secondary literature (see Steingröver 90, Puw Davies 51). Egon Schwarz views narrative creativity as utopian: "In solchen Erzählungen, wo der Erzähler ungehemmt seiner Phantasie die Zügel schießen läßt, besteht eine Balance zwischen der Lust am Absurden und der Vorstellung einer Welt, wo die festgefahrene Routine des normalen Lebens aufgehoben ist. Gerade weil alle die grotesken Einfälle noch in ihren wildesten Kapriolen einer unabänderlichen Gesetzlichkeit verpflichtet sind, wird die gewohnte Alltagswelt momentan in Frage gestellt, so daß man sagen könnte, es blitze ein utopischer Gegenentwurf auf" (395).

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Grotesque Narratives Part 3: The Quest-Romance Novel Kerstin Hensel once defined comedy in the following words, which sound strikingly like Immanuel Kant's explanation of how the defeating of expectations produces laughter, or Carl Pietzker's similar definition of the grotesque as the bursting of expectations: "Komik ist etwas, wo etwas mit Ernst aufgebaut wird, und dann bricht die Spitze ab."101 Along with its picaresque and fantastical narratives, Gipshut is driven by several central quests, all of which are noble or otherwise serious, but none of which ultimately succeed, all having their "tips broken off" before reaching fruition. The quest-romance genre bears an archetypal form consisting of three stages: the protagonist first embarks on a journey in pursuit of a valuable object, she engages in a battle or other type of conflict in which she or her antagonist or both must die, and finally, is resurrected and exalted as a hero.102 While on this journey, [t]he hero is forced to test his courage, intelligence, strength, and worthiness […]. Sometimes, rituals (magical or otherwise) are involved, initiating the hero into esoteric secrets. The successful hero passes each test and, in the process gains some internal good—often wisdom or self-knowledge—as well as the object he sought.103

All of Gipshut's main characters seek or desire something they cannot obtain, or that they obtain and then lose. As we have seen, Veronika commits suicide because her efforts to win Hans's affection prove inadequate. Meanwhile, Hans sets out on a long journey to convert his fellow citizens to socialism, but they reject him, only to have him destroy them with volcanic fire.104 Veronika's mundane life struggles emphasize the banality of the Aufbau and Ankunft im Alltag periods in GDR history, _____________ 101 Ronald Richter, "Überall ist Grimma. Kerstin Hensel im Gespräch mit Ronald Richter," Theater der Zeit 51.4 (1996): 86-87, 86. 102 Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1957) 187. 103 "Themes in Treasure Island," Cliffs Notes Online, Wiley Publishing 2000-2006, 16 August 2006 . 104 Hensel's grotesque description of the GDR infrastructure hammers in this failure, which Hans sees, but does not combat, since his battles are theoretical and not practical. Visiting the SED activist Ilona Krautjunk, he smells, sees, hears, and feels how poorly the new, socialist realist apartments are built: "Das Treppenhaus roch nach frischem Beton. Die Wände, mit geblümter Tapete beklebt, waren mit fingerbreiten Fugen voneinander getrennt, aus denen trockener Mörtel rieselte. [...] Aus den Türen klang Kindergeschrei und Elterngebrüll. Jedem Topfklappern konnte man von der ersten bis zur letzten Etage nachhören. Das Haus zitterte unter Hansens Schritten" (108). Still, he takes no action to fix this problem, and thus his socialist quest to eliminate "Unterdrückung und Ausbeutung" and achieve the "Aufbau des gesellschaftlichen Eigentums" rings hollow and cannot succeed (214). In the end, Hans resigns himself to a solitary life as a forklift operator and contributes villainously to the annihilation of his adopted city, renouncing his earlier ideals.

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while Hans's unsuccessful ideological battles with his peers and accompanying professional rise and fall contribute to his generic ambiguity, pulling him away from his pseudo-picaresque role into that of a quest-romance antihero. His intentions are pure like those of real heroes, but the means he uses to realize them are too rigid, and thus the necessary goal achievement and public "exaltation of the hero" phases of the questromance genre are grotesquely blown to bits in his case. Anna and Paul's quests more closely resemble the trajectory of the quest-romance plot. Both geologists seek and find their identities, develop a romantic relationship, and discover the epicenter of the subterranean volcano. However, Hensel soon twists their lives grotesquely so that they also do not fulfill the generic requirement to live "happily ever after" as in a fairy tale. Their successes are not only short-lived, but in Anna's case also not synchronous. Her attempts to develop an independent identity and a psychologically healthy partnership based on mutual respect and equality are, in fact, at odds: either she has neither, as with her partner Paffrath, or she has one but not the other with Professor Hörnle or with Paul. Paul finds true love and a voice with Anna, but their mutual love quickly fades. After dramatically discovering the epicenter of the volcano and thus fulfilling their scientific quest, they furthermore lose their inner drive to advance the cause of science when their funding is cut. Although the volcanic eruption cannot be avoided, the fact that none of these protagonists attempts to warn their fellow Berliners about the pending tragedy indicates they have become self-centered and nihilistic by the late 1990s—a far cry from the courageous selflessness of the romantic hero. Hensel constructs her narratives with building blocks from the questromance genre and then tears them down in order to dismantle the genre and its heroic, inspirational optimism. As in her other works, she thereby highlights the act of narration itself as a malleable artifice. She also frustrates genre conventions in this case to attack societal failings. Like other Eastern German satirists, she blames the socialist system for the apathy of many GDR citizens, and the altered, post-Wende situation for their later nihilism. Although several years pass before her characters experience unification's full negative ramifications, by the novel's end, they find themselves trapped in a downward spiral. This downturn begins for Anna and Paul after they experience an intense moment of sexual ecstasy together in the Siethener Lake (176-7). Central to the novel, the scene represents simultaneously a pinnacle and a second turning point in their attitudes toward life: Erschöpft tritt das deutsch-deutsche Forschungsteam den Rückweg zum Zelt an. Alles hatten sie vergessen, was an offiziellem Auftrag zu erfüllen war. Zwar glaubten sie sich nunmehr explizit vulkanisch eingestimmt, und ihre Liebe

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bezeichnen sie als Eruptionssäule des Glücks, aber es ist immer auch, als seien diese Stunden eben der Höhepunkt ihres Lebens gewesen, und von nun an geht alles mit verminderter Energie weiter. (177)

The scene begins with a utopian climax and ends with this disappointing downturn, leading inevitably to the couple's alienation and highlighting the novel's pessimism, despite its predominantly ironic and comical narrative modes. At this point, the cap at the peak of the subterranean volcanic cone mirrors the pyramidal structure of the narrative as Anna and Paul's biographies develop at first like in a classical tragedy in the direction of, and then back down away from, this one, climactic moment.105 Tellingly, their relationship also remains free of offspring, who would have represented the "victory of fertility over the waste land" and can also be the precious objects carried home from a successful quest (Frye 193). This downward plot turn gains momentum when the director of the Geological Institute of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Anna's former lover Polti Hörnle, does not believe the volcano actually exists and cuts their funding for fear of losing his academic reputation: [a]us dem Garmischer Geologischen Zentralinstitut wird Stopp geboten für die Arbeit des deutsch-deutschen Forschungsteams. Die Begründung lautet offiziell: Mangel an Geldmitteln. Aber Anna Fricke weiß es besser: Dr. Polti Hörnle bezweifelt die Beweisbarkeit der Vulkanhypothese und will das Projekt zum eigenen Schutz abbrechen (196).

Despite this funding cut, Anna and Paul continue their idealistic quest to find the volcano's epicenter and eventually discover it beneath the Palast der Republik. Because they fear not to be taken seriously, however, and soon must seek other employment, they discontinue their research and do not inform the media of their findings. Their quest, though successful, does not lead to the emergency evacuation of Berlin and is lost instead in their struggle for survival in their new environment. Having Anna and Paul neglect to inform their fellow citizens about the volcano, then repress its discovery altogether, Hensel pronounces judgment on them and on Hans. The fact that the two geologists are forced to turn to a public relations career in postwall Germany, and consciously choose not only to remain in Berlin, but also to work in the rebuilt Berliner Stadtschloss, indicates further personality decay as their normal, human life-instinct appears to shift to an unconscious death instinct. In another pessimistic move, the author has the course of their love relationship parallel their loss of scientific ambition. Initially passionate, this relationship soon becomes mechanical. Working overtime in the new economy, their trysts are reduced to "eine minutenlange Pause, _____________ 105 Hans's biography follows a similar, tragically climbing and falling trajectory.

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ein Stück Liebeslust […] in der hydraulischen Federung des Schreibtischstuhles" (224). The thwarting of all quests contributes to Gipshut's grotesque structure and generally pessimistic worldview. Analyzing its meltdown of the quest-romance novel reveals a message similar to that found in other post-Wende satires: utopian ideals are unachievable on a macrocosmic level or for any extended time period. The Multigenre Technique: Gipshut vs. Auditorium panopticum vs. Thomas Brussig vs. GDR Feminist Writers Gipshut has received more than a few negative critiques and remains relatively underdiscussed by German and international scholars.106 The novel is problematic because it recycles many past themes from Hensel's earlier works, as well as from GDR authors like Irmtraud Morgner and Karl Mickel. Hans Kielkropf's picaresque plot strand also mimics the plot of other, popular postwall satirical novels such as Brussig's Helden wie wir or Biskupek's Der Quotensachse. I will now address the question of Hensel's borrowings from other authors, especially her use of the multigenre technique, as well as some possible "ulterior motives" in writing Gipshut. Gipshut's multigenre form that zigzags between plot strands derives from Irmtraud Morgner's Leben und Abenteuer der Trobadora Beatriz and other Morgner texts, Karl Mickel's Lachmunds Freunde, and from Hensel's own, earlier work, Auditorium panopticum. The purposes of this technique are to produce confusion and ambiguity and to highlight the text's antimimetic qualities, which induce a Brechtian alienation in the reader and thus force her to play an active role in interpreting the text. Juxtaposing different time periods and genres by intertwining them produces a friction between them that can expose contradictions in characters, ideologies, or historical events. A prime example of this is the way Hensel contrasts Veronika's tragic working-class GDR life with that of Anna's after the Wende—Anna reaps a major benefit from unification by being able to study in Munich and develop an academic profession. Shifting back and forth between genres, playing with, and transforming them individually and as a group, Hensel produces a grotesque text that defies traditional interpretation methods, however, and thus can be quite frustrating. The _____________ 106 Most newspaper and journal reviews of Gipshut have been mixed (see Döbler 35, Dahlke "Traumtanz" 182, and Schmidt 17). Two positive ones came from Michael Schweizer ("In Brandenburg, auf dem Vulkan") and Konrad Franke ("Weh dem, der am Gipshut bohrt"). In German Literature of the 1990s and Beyond: Normalization and the Berlin Republic, Stuart Taberner mentions Auditorium panoptikum (1991), Im Schlauch (1993), Tanz am Kanal, and Im Spinnhaus in his chapter "Literature in the East," but neglects to mention Gipshut.

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Realist elements often clash with the fantastical elements, producing an irritation that grows as the novel progresses and making it appear a hodgepodge, rather than an interconnected narrative. The volcanic eruption at the novel's end, as disproportionately momentous as it is, perhaps fits this narrative structure best, as it symbolically blows apart that which was already bursting at the seams narratively. Hensel herself has described comedy as a genre in which "die Situation unverhältnismäßig ist. Wo die Dinge aufeinandergehen und nicht mehr funktionieren" (Richter, "Überall ist Grimma" 86). Sounding a lot like a definition of the grotesque, this idea of "things clashing and not functioning" is central to her poetological philosophy.107 Switching back and forth between its two plot strands and tracing them forward chronologically toward a common, tragic finish, Gipshut's structure also resembles bestselling mystery novels like Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code, films like Quentin Tarrantino's Pulp Fiction, or Günter Grass's recent novella Im Krebsgang.108 Gipshut lacks the suspense of these works, however, because her characters possess deterministic biographies. Thus, Gipshut's conclusion, which should produce horror in the reader, is actually anticlimactic and farcical. One does not really care whether her characters live or die, except perhaps for Hans, whom one may wish to die with Paul and Anna, instead of remaining the sole survivor, as Hensel's final, grotesque gift to the reader. This pessimism in Hensel's text indicates that she wrote it in order to remember the past critically, untainted by an Ostalgie that threatened (and still continues to threaten) to erase the traumatic aspects of life in the GDR. Written in the late 1990s, at a time when waves of nostalgia for the GDR were rising, culminating in such films as Sonnenallee and Goodbye, Lenin!, Gipshut understandably tempers these idealized visions of the past with a strong dose of satire. Interestingly, Hensel's first novel, Auditorium panopticum, which is also based on Morgner's Beatriz, but more grotesque than Gipshut, is also much better than Gipshut, though the latter novel builds in many respects on its predecessor. The focus in Hensel's first novel was not to raise the consciousness of readers in the battle to implement socialism like Morgner's Beatriz, however, but rather on the act of narration itself as a form of play and as a way to mock canonical West and East German, as well as international authors' and visual artists' works. The multiple plot strands in Auditorium panopticum, as the title suggests, take place within a _____________ 107 Dahlke similarly describes the techniques Hensel combines in her writing to produce comical and satirical effects (Papierboot 160-161). 108 For a further analysis of how this narrative technique can function, see Jill Twark, "Landscape, Seascape, Cyberscape: Narrative Strategies to Dredge up the Past in Günter Grass's Novella Im Krebsgang," Gegenwartsliteratur 3 (2004): 143-168.

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wide, panoramic but enclosed space, in which one can purportedly see and hear everything. Thus the Auditorium is a metaphor for the Stasicontrolled, walled-in GDR nation. Although these plot strands have their epicenter in the Auditorium Maximum of the Karl-Marx-Universität in Leipzig,109 they spread out in many directions like the spokes on a wheel, as the student protagonists leave a German literature class one by one to embark on fantastical journeys.110 The biographical stories reach back in time to the Second World War, but the actual narrative, strewn with various poems, songs, protocols, letters, and so forth, focuses on the late 1980s, expressing the pessimism of a time when many citizens no longer believed they could personally influence the development of socialism in the GDR. Lyn Marven points out how Auditorium relinquishes Morgner's utopian vision in Beatriz: The utopian impulse of Morgner's Trobadora Beatriz is no longer evident; Hensel is not measuring society against 'das Mögliche von übermorgen' […], a slogan from the sequel Amanda, but rather the potential of literature at the end of the GDR against Morgner's ideals. The acute, ironic self-consciousness of Hensel's novel suggests that Morgner's earlier approach is no longer possible, nor appropriate in Germany at the time when not only the state of the GDR, but also the ideals it promoted, had been rejected. (Marven, "Trobadora's Legacy")

In Auditorium panopticum Hensel had parodied literary personae and their clearly recognizable works in ways that created a boisterous, hilarious roller-coaster ride that was quite pleasurable to read. Gipshut, however, recycles Hensel's own works in ways that seem sadly repetitive and epigonal. She once again uses the grotesque body to depict trauma, to critique the insensitivity of male behavior like Gabelstapler Jochen's or Hans's, and positively to produce laughter and highlight moments of sexual ecstasy and unity with nature. She plays with fairy tales and the fantastic to spark the reader's imagination, but also as forces to undo traditional male-female, rational-irrational, civilization-nature, and EastWest binaries. Unfortunately, the techniques she uses and the messages she conveys have all been produced and repeated in Western German, GDR, and world literature since the 1960s. While somewhat entertaining

_____________ 109 Hensel refers a few times to her characters meeting in the famous Leipzig "Cafe Corso." 110 Hensel first used this technique in a GDR play entitled Ausflug, which she described as "ein strahlenförmiges Gebilde mit einem gedanklichen Zentrum." It exists, furthermore, "im scheiternden oder erfolgreichen Versuch, etwas in Bewegung zu setzen und in Bewegung zu halten, im Rückgreifen auf Vergangenes und im Vorgreifen in Zukunft. [...] [E]s geht immer um das Ausbrechen aus Vorbestimmungen und um die Widerstände, die sich dem entgegenstellen" (Volker Trauth, "'Indem ich schreibe, suche ich eine Antwort.' Gespräch mit Kerstin Hensel," Theater der Zeit 9 (1988): 59-60, 59).

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to read, these fantastical devices monotonously revisit prominent feminist themes from East and West German literature of the 1960s and '70s.111 There are several possible reasons for this recycling of narrative structures, protagonists, and societal critiques. One explanation is that Hensel wanted to shake up, but also preserve and carry on the memory of her predecessors. At the end of Gipshut, she provides the motivation for Hans's hastening of the volcanic eruption: Dinge werden aus unbekannter Tiefe über die Stadt geschleudert, in wirbelnden Eskapaden Widderköpfe Adler Genien Putten Säulen Portale, eine glühende Venus, die Maske eines Unbekannten, alles aus Gips […], um Raum zu schaffen für neue gigantische Energien, rasende Nukleonen, die alles herausreißen, was versunken vermauert vergessen war (226).

In revisiting the texts and ideas of past authors, Hensel keeps them alive. By repeating the social critiques of her feminist predecessors, she also reemphasizes the fact that the utopian visions contained within them have not yet been realized, despite unification and the passing of time. The fantastical references to the stopping of time within Anna and Paul's plot strand indicate that many of these conditions have not changed since GDR times. If viewed from a more pessimistic perspective, one might say that Hensel makes a mockery of these former ideals. The fact that Hensel made Gipshut less intellectual, less grotesque, and thus more accessible than Auditorium might also indicate her desire to write texts after unification that are more marketable. After all, her bestselling text to date is the accessible novella Tanz am Kanal, which, judging by the poorer quality of Gipshut and Falscher Hase, and the darker, fairytale nature of Im Spinnhaus, may end up being the work for which she is best remembered in future. One final, potential reason for Hensel's choice of topics and characters in Gipshut may be to exact revenge (albeit recognizable only to those readers familiar with Auditorium panopticum) on Thomas Brussig, who to my knowledge has not acknowledged Hensel's 1991 novel as a source for many of the humorous biographical details integrated into Klaus Uhltzscht's biography. A few of these many borrowed details include Klaus's uncanny similarity to Hensel's arrogant wannabe GDR author Egmont Köhler, whose parents also oppress him and subject him to dinnertime interrogations (40-42), who creates aphorisms to impress others, and who asserts at one point, "[d]ie erste Seite seines [autobiographischen] Romans war noch nicht gelungen" (73). Hensel also mocked the GDR author Christa Wolf by referring to her as _____________ 111 Cheryl Dueck surveys feminist themes within the works of two generations of GDR writers: Christa Wolf, Brigitte Reimann, Helga Königsdorf, and Helga Schubert in Rifts in Time and Space: The Female Subject in Two Generations of East German Women Writers, Amsterdamer Publikationen zur Sprache und Literatur 154 (New York: Rodopi, 2004).

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"Christl Lamm." And her world-renowned, competitive roller-skater Ramona Hufschmied—who masturbates alone at night with her teddy bear like Klaus does with his camouflage sheets and grilled chicken, and whose trainer demands excessive discipline—must have served as the basis for Klaus's idea to equate Wolf with the ice-skating trainer Jutta Müller (Hensel 42, Brussig 87-88, 239). These and other borrowings, enriching Klaus's character and contributing to high sales of Helden wie wir, may have prompted Hensel to produce Hans Kielkropf, arguably a darker version of Klaus, and Veronika Dankschön, a more sympathetic GDR mother than Lucie Uhltzscht. Such comparisons (including also Braun and Hensel's borrowings from Mickel's Lachmund's Freunde for both of their texts analyzed here) demonstrate the continuing interconnectedness of Eastern German literature in the 1990s, which should not be underestimated and produces a literary community whose ties will continue to come to light as more research is done into these and other Eastern German authors' biographies and works.

Conclusions: Pessimism, Utopia, and the Individual Volker Braun and Kerstin Hensel incorporate the grotesque mode in Der Wendehals and Gipshut to express dismay at unification's effects on Eastern Germans, and, in Hensel's case, also to pass harsh judgment on the rigid GDR system and its ideologues. Their texts reflect a grotesque reality, and they critique this reality by distorting it even more with their grotesque characters, language, and narratives. Braun's GDR works dissected issues vital to that society and its socialist ideology, and his more recent works focus on the difficulties Eastern Germans and citizens around the world confront in facing a Western type of freedom and individuality rooted in capitalism (see also Das Wirklichgewollte 2002). As in the past, he condemns the capitalist system from a Marxist perspective as producing destructive levels of self-centeredness, alienation, and commercialism. The difference between his past and more recent appraisals is that here a comprehensive ideology that might seriously counter these negative effects is absent. In Der Wendehals Braun rues the fact that utopian ideologies like socialism have become obsolete. Most striking about his use of the grotesque here is that it is confined to the post-Wende, "capitalist" period and thus implies that the trauma some Eastern Germans faced after unification was worse than the trauma of living in a totalitarian state. Although Gipshut's narrative structure and main characters resemble those depicted in other post-unification satires, its multiple, fatal tragedies and generally pessimistic view of human nature make it the darkest of all

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satires analysed here. In Hensel's GDR and postwall texts, Gipshut included, both the GDR and unified Germany are conceived as sites rife with traumatic events that find their symbolic and narrative expression in the grotesque. On the one hand, Gipshut's multiperspectivity, composite structure, and frequent zigzagging between plot strands link it to Loest's Katerfrühstück and to Schulze's Simple Storys. On the other hand, Hans Kielkropf's fictional biography greatly resembles Brussig's, Biskupek's, and Ulbrich's picaresque autobiographies. What separates Hans from these other picaresque protagonists is that he remains trapped by his narrowminded obsession with socialism, while they are clever enough to work within the GDR system to get what they want. By stubbornly adhering to fixed concepts of socialism or capitalism (though most other GDR citizens in Hensel's novel do not), Hans and Braun's Schaber not only fail to achieve their self-imposed goals, but they are also punished repeatedly by other members of society for their obsessive behavior. Their behavior and punishments come across as grotesquely excessive. A further, common grotesque aspect of Gipshut and Der Wendehals is that both exaggerate the effects the Wende had on Eastern Germans. Instead of embracing German unification in a healthy, positive fashion, Schaber overdoes it with his enthusiasm, and ICH becomes disillusioned like the protagonists in Chapters 1 and 3 of this study. In Gipshut, the historical events of the Wende and the postwall period are downplayed, but their effects become increasingly horrific. It is not unification per se that contributes to the consciousness-raising of Anna and Paul, but rather a trip to the Alps in Anna's case and a series of ahistorical fairy tale experiences in Paul's. Unified Germany provides the necessary conditions for Anna's trip to the West, but not necessarily for Paul's discovery of his inner strengths. The political turmoil of the late 1980s and early '90s does trigger the volcanic eruption, however, which yields a preposterous, apocalyptic end to East(ern) Germany's downhill trajectory, fueled by Hans's bitter acrimony. Spotlighting biographical events that take place in the GDR or in the late 1990s, rather than in the immediate postwall period, Hensel's novel points to a shift in postwall narratives from treating the Wende and unification as centerpieces, to according these events a more peripheral place in later novels. Simple Storys, published in 1998, also reflects this trend by focusing on snapshot slices of time in the lives of ordinary people and avoiding descriptions of greater historical events. Hensel and Braun display remarkably similar views of human nature and of East German reactions to a capitalist system radically different from the familiar, socialist regime. In Der Wendehals, since there are only two speakers and a narrator, the perspective on unification is narrower than that in Gipshut. While Hensel passes judgment on specific Western

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and Eastern German types, Braun is more interested in criticizing western civilization in general as a harbor for capitalism in its most negative manifestations, including uncontrolled media and marketing barrages, the exploitation of workers, homelessness, etc., than he is in criticizing Western Germany specifically. This fact distinguishes him from all other authors here except Brussig, who virtually ignores Western Germany in his novel, but openly expresses enthusiasm for American culture. Like the other authors in this study, Braun and Hensel also comment on consumer culture before and after unification. Their conclusions resemble those of Rosenlöcher, Schirmer, and Sparschuh, as their Eastern German narrators also have difficulties adapting to capitalist excess. Ulbrich provides an interesting contrast to Braun in that he presents the relationship of his protagonist, Berni, to consumer products positively. Berni and his friends expand their minds and become freethinkers by consuming western culture in the form of rock-and-roll music and blue jeans. Whereas Braun's Schaber believes he suffered from a lack of freedom and consumer goods under socialism, Ulbrich's characters achieve satisfaction from the simple pleasures they manage to enjoy within the restrictive GDR context: their quest to find and eat grilled chicken appears innocent and cute. Ulbrich associates the restrictive nature of the socialist system with the positive effects controlled consumption can have in teaching people to appreciate the simple things in life. Braun depicts GDR dearth, conversely, as leading later to obsessive consumption. The utopian traces in Gipshut, realized in its protagonists' brief love relationships and noble quests, point toward alternatives to the dominant socialist and capitalist ideologies (and realities) that take their toll on them eventually. In a 1988 interview Hensel described how she viewed the possibility of individuals to influence history: "Ich fürchte, daß es diese Chance für den einzelnen in der Wirklichkeit wahrscheinlich so nicht geben wird. Aber sie ist vorhanden als Utopie und Utopie ist Möglichkeit in poetischen Texten" (Trauth 60). Regarding the future, she stated: Die Zukunft, so sehe ich es im Moment, ist die Wiederkehr vieler Muster auf neuer Stufe, in verschiedenen Formen und Varianten. Ich kann die Zukunftspotential meiner Figuren nicht beantworten. Indem ich solche Texte [wie das Drama Ausflug] schreibe, suche ich eine Antwort [...] es ist geschrieben als Fragestellung. (Trauth 60)

Gipshut's structure, symbols, and fairy tale surrealism demonstrate Hensel's desire to juxtapose pre- and post-unification East(ern) Germany, indicate good and bad sides of each society, and then move beyond the historical time frame of both, which she depicts as divergent and equally imperfect. Depicting the GDR, the Soviet Union, and unified Germany in her novel as dystopian, Hensel blends genres to comment pessimistically on recent

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German history. Analyzing Hensel's multifaceted application of the grotesque mode in Gipshut reveals a message similar Braun's in the HinzeKunze-Roman and Der Wendehals: utopian ideals are unachievable because it is contrary to human nature to exist in a perpetual state of happiness. Like the characters Hinze and Kunze and ICH and ER/Schaber, Hensel's characters engage in paradoxical struggles with their inner urges to work for the good of society as a whole versus submitting to their personal interests. In Hensel's text, however, the character who works most diligently to further socialism, Hans Kielkropf, is depicted as deviant and unethical in his quest, whereas the idealistic ICH in Braun's appears disillusioned but not abnormal or immoral. In Gipshut the perspective on Hans's life is not his own; it is not presented from a first-person point-ofview, but rather by an external narrator whose more distant, third-person storytelling discourages the reader from identifying with him. While one may empathize with Berni Freilich's and many of Klaus Uhltzscht's youthful antics or humorous though painful GDR experiences, Hans's consistent narrow-mindedness, hardline ideological views, and selfishness provoke at best pity and at worst contempt. Like Braun's decadent character Schaber, the reader grows ever more disgusted with Hans's selfishness as Gipshut progresses. Hans's political ideals, which are supposed to serve the socialist cause of egalitarianism, become an obsession that paradoxically feeds his self-serving pseudointellectualism and elitism. The geologists Anna Fricke and Paul Norg, by contrast, who were apathetic to furthering socialism in the GDR, later assume a crucial scientific mission—finding the Brandenburg volcano before it can erupt—but their efforts are also foiled for institutional and private reasons. In finding love and a new career, the two geologists create their own, private world, which renders them oblivious to the immanent danger posed by the volcano. If the traditional concept of utopia as a systematic, political ideology is redefined by applying Ruth Levitas's theory of it as a set of personal values, Hensel's view of utopia in Gipshut is revealed to be restricted to fleeting, individual moments of bliss during which these values reach fruition.112 Even a small-scale, interpersonal utopia such as Paul and Anna's union is doomed eventually to dissolve in Hensel's grotesque fictional world. One final difference between the two authors' dystopic views of society can be found in the roles they attach to women. As in the other texts discussed here, it is once again mainly via the biography of a male GDR citizen that the reader learns about GDR society in Gipshut—despite _____________ 112 "Utopia as Literature, Utopia as Politics," Zeitgenössische Utopieentwürfe in Literatur und Gesellschaft. Zur Kontroverse seit den achtziger Jahren, ed. Rolf Jucker (Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1997) 121-137.

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the fact that this time the author is a woman. Apparently, the satire genre in East(ern) Germany was and still is dominated by male authors who conceive of their societal criticisms from a male perspective, as has been the case historically in Germany and in most, if not all, other world literatures. The few Eastern German exceptions to this rule include Brigitte Burmeister's Unter dem Namen Norma (1994) and Katrin Schmidt's Die Gunnar Lennefsen Expedition (1998). Despite belonging to a continuum, and thus not standing out for its profusion, this concentration of male protagonists in satirical literature depicting the GDR/Eastern Germany counters recent scholars' claims that East(ern) Germany as the Other has been feminized in the media and in literature, while West(ern) Germany has been given the dominant, male role. Hensel inverts this scheme, in fact, by having her female character Anna represent the West in confrontation with the Eastern German male character Paul. And whereas Braun eliminates women as positive agents within his dystopic societal vision, Hensel presents them as a diverse group whose coping abilities, attachment to nature, and less selfish or violent behavior allow them to serve as an alternative, redeeming half to the male-female binary she constructs. In Gipshut, as in Loest's Katerfrühstück, Hensel argues that the duality of East and West can be overcome by the duality of man and woman, whose attraction to one another can ignore borders. Asked about the role utopia plays in his work in an unpublished interview conducted in 1993, Braun stated: Ich meine, Utopie ist für die Literatur eine Arbeitshaltung. Das kommt aber auch aus dem Erlebnis eines Mangels her, daß wir bisher doch das Gefühl hatten, so beschämend und elend die Verhältnisse waren, es war doch ein großes Ganzes, ein die ganze Gesellschaft umfassendes Projekt, in dem man, kritisch oder wütend, doch wußte, daß man Einfluß nahm auf etwas, was das Ganze betraf. Und das ist plötzlich zerfallen.113

What took the place of this "allumfassende Projekt" in the GDR, which Braun later alludes to in Der Wendehals, was a Western obsession with "experience." Apparently, Braun regained some of his prior optimism, however, hinting through ICH at a concept of utopia he later described in a 1999 interview with Silvia and Dieter Schlenstedt: Die Wahrnehmung unserer Lage im Geschichtlichen, nicht vorgesehen zu sein von der "Schöpfung," sagt Theweleit, löscht den Lärm der Ideologien. Es steht uns zu, mit Härte und Heiterkeit, mitleidlos auf das Eigne zu schauen. Die Wahrnehmung, daß wir nichts im Ganzen, doch etwas über uns selbst vermögen, ist der utopische Fund, der zu machen ist.114

_____________ 113 Jill Twark, unpublished interview with Volker Braun from 23 June 1993, Rome, Italy. 114 "Schichtwechsel oder Die Verlagerung des geheimen Punkts: Volker Braun im Gespräch mit Silvia und Dieter Schlenstedt, März 1999," Volker Braun Arbeitsbuch, ed. Frank Hörnigk

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Utopia in Der Wendehals, as in other, not only Eastern German satires, consists of the individual's basic fight for survival in an alienated world, which can make him a subject if he is "bei sich," that is, capable of thinking for himself and of making conscious decisions. Hensel's viewpoint in Gipshut is similar, though in her fictional world such a decision-making ability either does not exist (Veronika is not intelligent enough, and Hans is too narrow-minded) or it does not lead to actions that benefit society as a whole (Anna and Paul do not save Berlin). Both authors' concepts of utopia, if satire is assumed to depict an antithetical reality, are thus tied closely to the capability of individuals to think freely and critically and to express positive, socially conscious agency within their respective environments. Within rigid, socialist societies freethinkers were often punished, and in the consumer-oriented West, the struggle to achieve such utopian ideals is ongoing.

_____________ (Berlin: Theater der Zeit, 1999) 174-188, 188. Klaus Theweleit (b. 1942 in East Prussia, now Russia) is a sociologist, art historian, literary scholar, philosopher, and author. He studied German and English literature in Kiel and Freiburg and now teaches at the Universität Freiburg im Breisgau, the Staatliche Akademie der Bildenden Künste in Karlsruhe, and the Deutsche Film- und Fernsehakademie Berlin.

Conclusion Building an Eastern German Identity by Sustaining and Subverting Past and Present German Society The Eastern German authors in this study ride on a wave of humor that has swept Germany at the turn of the twenty-first century and continues to reverberate to this day. Despite Germany's reputation for being a country devoid of humor, in recent years this no longer appears to be the case.1 A myriad of new television shows and popular music groups established in the 1990s leave no doubt that Germans can be just as silly as people of other nations. The Harald Schmidt Show and Stefan Raab's TV Total are both modeled after the U.S. Late Show with David Letterman; Kaya Yanar's ethno-comedy variety show Was guckst du? pokes fun at stereotypes of foreigners and their bad grammar; and the outrageous forty-something, balding pop singer Guildo Horn likes to remove his shirt and climb up the stage supports while singing along with his band called the "Orthopädischen Strümpfe."2 Of course, Germans possess a strong cultural tradition of humorous and satirical literature, cabaret, film, and television,3 but it appears that this culture of the comic has expanded since unification. In February 1996 the front cover of Der Spiegel displayed the question "Wie komisch sind die Deutschen?" and, in an article entitled "Sei schlau, hab Spaß," the magazine concluded: _____________ 1

2

3

Two recent studies that attempt to explain Germany's general dearth of humor compared to other European countries are Otto F. Best's Volk ohne Witz. Über ein deutsches Defizit (Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer, 1993) and Dietrich Schwanitz's Das Shylock-Syndrom, oder Die Dramaturgie der Barbarei (Frankfurt a. M.: Eichborn, 1997). Harald Schmidt, Die Harald Schmidt Show, SAT 1, 1995-2003 and Harald Schmidt, ARD, 23 December 2004 to present; Stefan Raab, TV Total, Pro 7, 8 March 1999 to present; David Letterman, Late Night with David Letterman, NBC, 1982-1993, and Late Show starring David Letterman, CBS, 1993-present; Kaya Yanar, Was guckst du?, SAT 1, 2001-2005; Guildo Horn, Danke!, EMI Electrola, 1998 and Schön!, EMI Electrola, 1999, among others. Helmut Arntzen traces the history of German satire from the twelfth to the seventeenth century in Satire in der deutschen Literatur: Geschichte und Theorie, vol. 1 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1989). Further surveys include William A. Coupe, German Political Satires from the Reformation to the Second World War (White Plains, N.Y.: Kraus, 1985) and Ludger Claßen, Satirisches Erzählen im 20. Jahrhundert: Heinrich Mann, Bertolt Brecht, Martin Walser, F.C. Delius (München: Fink, 1985). For more references see the bibliography.

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In Deutschland macht sich eine neue Generation von Spaßverliebten breit, deren fast angelsächsisch anmutendes Pointentempo, deren Sinn für Nonsens, Blödelei, Parodie, Sarkasmus, Ironie, überhaupt für intelligente Unterhaltung ohne metaphysischen Hintersinn das bewährte Humor-Elend überraschend aufhellen.4

Several years later the U.S. Germanist Stephen Brockmann asserted: "Humor plays a crucial role in German culture of the 1990s."5 Indeed, humor and satire are modes that cannot and have not been ignored by the German media and by Germanists in recent years. Der Spiegel attributed this rather sudden and perhaps surprising widespread phenomenon to Germany's strong economy and high standard of living, which afford Germans both the money and the leisure to seek entertainment. Citing Gerhard Schulze's Die Erlebnisgesellschaft, Der Spiegel reports on the Germans' seemingly manic desire to pursue life experiences, especially those that are action-filled, fun, or considered to be significant "events." Popular sources of amusement like humorous television shows, film comedies, cabaret, and literature help satisfy this urge, which also includes a cynical, ironic, or distanced view of politics, worldwide catastrophes, and the paradox between reality and eighteenthcentury Enlightenment ideals: Die neue Botschaft: Es gibt keine Wahrheit hinter der Maskerade. Alles liegt – im Prinzip – offen zutage. Die Dialektik der Aufklärung hat ganze Arbeit geleistet: unauflösbare Widersprüche, wohin man blickt. Das Ganze ist das Absurde. Der Ernstfall ist der Lachanfall ("Sei schlau" 180).

One way to come to terms with unsolvable problems and looming disasters is to laugh at them—carpe diem. Cynicism about contemporary history coincides with the younger generation's sloughing off of the guilt its parents and grandparents felt (and still feel) about Germany's violent past, freeing them to enjoy life without being weighed down by the burden of this past ("Sei schlau" 184). When the Soviet Union collapsed and Cold War political and existential tensions evaporated, Germany as a whole experienced a new openness in talking about its National Socialist and divided German pasts.6 This greater openness, coupled with a healthy kind of national pride (most recently and publicly demonstrated during _____________ 4 5

6

"Sei schlau, hab Spaß," Der Spiegel 8, 19 February 1996, 170-184, 171. Stephen Brockmann, "The Politics of German Comedy," German Studies Review 23:2 (2000): 33-51, 33. Although he focuses specifically on two film comedies, two novels (one of which is Brussig's Helden wie wir), and Dietrich Schwanitz's treatise (see footnote 1), Brockmann sees these works as part of a larger movement. Bill Niven, Facing the Nazi Past: United Germany and the Legacy of the Third Reich, (London and New York: Routledge, 2002). Another benefit of German unification is that Western and Eastern Germany can no longer blame each other for the rise of fascism and the Second World War, or for certain tensions the Cold War produced, but rather must work together to seek historical facts and truths from a less biased perspective.

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Germany's hosting of the 2006 World Cup in soccer, and witnessed with enthusiasm by visitors and spectators around the world), provides the selfconfidence that enables Germans to laugh at themselves by generating the lowered inhibitions Freud attributes to a greater appreciation of humor. Eastern German authors contribute to this general movement toward humorous cultural production and consumption, but humorous and satirical modes specifically assisted Eastern German authors to depict and to deal with the problematic effects of the Wende and subsequent unification. The high number of artworks produced in these modes, coupled with the fact that these works appeared throughout the 1990s and continue to be created into the twenty-first century, indicates that the phenomenon is not simply a fleeting fad, but a real trend in German society in general, and in Eastern Germany in particular. In tracing the contours of this trend, I addressed ten novels as concrete examples and constructed four typological categories based on their respective satirical genres. These four categories assist with interpreting the texts in their post-Wende context. The liminal experience of living on the threshold between two societies prompted some authors to assume a self-ironic and defensive pose and others either a more subtle ironic realism, or the more aggressive GDR-adapted picaresque, or the grotesque mode. In the late 1990s and early twenty-first century, as memories of the GDR begin to fade in the collective Eastern German consciousness, there has also been a move in Eastern Germany toward expressing nostalgic views of the past. This move coincides with a wider German trend toward Vergangenheitsbewältigung, as the last generation of Germans to have experienced the Second World War firsthand is disappearing. The term Vergangenheitsbewältigung now encompasses a wider range of cultural discourses that include the current struggle of Eastern Germans to deal with their past, as well as recent Western German efforts to understand the generation of '68 and Red Army Faction terrorism. A long string of Eastern German film comedies, including Sonnenallee (2000), Goodbye, Lenin! (2002), and NVA (2005, referring to the East German Nationale Volksarmee), short story collections like Jakob Hein's Mein letztes T-Shirt (2002), and novels like Landnahme (2004) by Hein's father, Christoph Hein, attest to the continuing ambivalent relationship of Eastern Germans toward their own past and/or the past of their parents. This relationship often combines a strong cultural—but not political—GDR fetishization with a humorous distancing and the nurturing of a distinct Eastern identity. "This 'Wunsch-DDR' was the perfect vehicle for former GDR citizens, who wanted a way to be proud of their accomplishments in the GDR but did not want to be associated with the SED regime" (Howell 131-2). At the same time, grotesque versions of the GDR or post-Wende

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period continue to be produced. Kathrin Schmidt's Die Gunnar-LennefsenExpedition (1998) and Kerstin Hensel's Falscher Hase (2005) are further grotesque responses that problematize the traumatic effects the GDR system had on some citizens. Both authors carry their narratives back to pre-GDR times, thus emphasizing biographical continuities and breaks in several distinct political systems. Satire and humor are prevalent modes to be found in all genres of postwall Eastern German literature and in many audiovisual media featuring East(ern) Germany, whether these works convey nostalgia or aversion.7 Exploring these additional humorous genres—film comedies, satirical or ironic essays, short stories, comical ostalgic and satirical GDR lexica, the comical adventure/crime story, and satirical science fiction—would likely confirm the present conclusions about how humor and satire function in the Eastern German context. Having examined a large cross-section of postwall satire in its generic categories, the time has come to draw conclusions about the texts as a whole and situate them in the wider context of recent German cultural history. The central questions are addressed here individually, beginning with a summary of how the sociopolitical shift from "socialism" to "capitalism" affected the way these and other Eastern German authors express criticism satirically. To broaden the scope of my conclusions, I weigh other theoretical approaches to postwall satirical texts by Tanja Nause, Markus Symmank, and Daniel Sich. How do these satirists' respective visions of the GDR and post-1989 Germany contribute to the construction of a specifically Eastern German identity? Answering this question requires an assessment of satirical techniques like stereotyping and linguistic playfulness, which they use to substantiate and to subvert the structure of contemporary German society and predominant views of the GDR. The fictionalized characters may resemble one another, but the novel or near-novel length of the texts works against stereotyping, because wide-reaching critiques of the GDR or unification are encapsulated in the characters' thoughts and actions as they move through an extended narrative framework. Unlike purely tendentious critiques like those transmitted in jokes, cabaret performances, or the Eastern German satirical magazine Eulenspiegel, there is room to develop wide-ranging, complexly constructed sociopolitical criticisms and utopian visions. These criticisms and visions are discussed below so that these authors' unique contributions to post-1989 German culture can be ascertained.

_____________ 7

See section 2.1 "Humorous and Satirical Texts from Eastern Germany" and 2.2 "Postwall Films Thematizing East(ern) Germany" in the bibliography.

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The New Character of Eastern German Humor and Satire The difference between GDR government-sponsored "befreiendes Lachen" and that enjoyed by Eastern Germans after unification is as different as the two regimes in which these authors have lived. When the central role they played in the GDR—as vanguard of the socialist enlightenment and moral conscience of the nation—underwent a functional transformation with its dissolution, the thrust and character of their satirical critiques changed. Recognizing that they now constitute a peripheral minority in the larger Federal Republic, they no longer write with the intent to alter or improve society as a whole. Reinhard Ulbrich describes his satirical texts as a critical reaction to unification thus: Das ist nicht so groß wie die Utopie insgesamt. Das ist auch kein Gesamtentwurf. Man hat mir in meinem Leben zu viele gesellschaftliche Gesamtentwürfe eingetrichtert, als dass ich heute mit einem Gesamtentwurf lehren möchte. Das bewegt sich in viel kleineren Einheiten" (Appendix 5, 398).

Matthias Biskupek sums up this difference more pessimistically: "Früher sollten wir möglichst nichts sagen, aber dadurch alles in der Gesellschaft verändern. Jetzt können wir alles sagen, und dadurch verändert sich nichts in der Gesellschaft" (Appendix 2, 335). Although all authors continue to shed light on problems and conflicts they have perceived or experienced in East(ern) German society, their critiques have ceased to be provocative to the government as they had been before 1989. GDR cultural policies had dictated that any critiques be pro-socialist and pro-government. Yet although most GDR authors adhered to the socialist ideology, they were aware of the contradictions between this ideology and reality, and argued in their works for their resolution. Now, perceiving the free-market democratic ideology also as leading to social problems, yet not knowing how or not wanting to overturn the western capitalist order into which they have entered—apparently the "end of the road" for socialist utopian dreams—they recognize the futility of trying to improve society and therefore focus on their own, personal difficulties with this system, which they transfer to their protagonists. Acting as irritating gadflies, these authors provoke their readers with more overt satirical critiques. Reveling in their newly won freedoms, Eastern German authors now openly allude to or name past and present politicians and public figures whom they hold up to scrutiny. They also directly criticize and mock the GDR state, the socialist system, the Socialist Unity Party (SED), and the Stasi. This directness represents a radical change from GDR times, in which authors were generally forced because of censorship to use milder or more abstract means of criticism such as parables, mythological figures, or symbolic characters. Scatological and sexual

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references also appear more frequently. The authors thereby flaunt the expanded creative potential gained by entering a new, more liberal society, frequently overdoing it because they can do so freely, and also to express criticisms overtly and attract attention to their work. Except for the cases of Braun, Hensel, and Brussig, however, the East German government, the secret police, and the Socialist Unity Party receive peripheral treatment in these satirical texts. Whereas the secret police plays a central role in other postwall satirical novels, especially Steffen Mensching's Pygmalion, Wolfgang Hilbig's Ich, Brigitte Burmeister's Unter dem Namen Norma and Günter Grass's Ein weites Feld, most of the ten texts featured here tell the stories of average East(ern) German citizens, thereby indicating a desire to explore issues of identity that affected all Easterners, not just a select few perpetrators or victims. This focus on individual experiences links these texts to those written during the New Subjectivity movement of the 1970s and '80s, when many GDR authors had already realized that their texts would not play a major role in convincing politicians to restructure the entire system to make it freer or more democratic.8 In the '70s and '80s many authors wrote, therefore, to provoke discussion on specific issues like gender inequalities (Blitz aus heiterem Himmel/Geschlechtertausch) or environmental destruction (Joachim Nawotny led the way in the 1970s). After 1989, observing firsthand the social inequalities endemic to free-market "capitalist" countries, these writers lash out at problems like mass unemployment; feelings of powerlessness and loss of homeland; an emphasis on consumerism that led, among other things, to alienation and inferiority complexes for the financial losers; and the loss of many former social and political networks. The explicit and implicit answers they provide could be expected under the circumstances: the list of survival strategies to which their protagonists resort includes changing careers, reeducating, upholding or reestablishing friendship or familial ties (often with western relatives), or taking a break like a hike or vacation and then seeking creative solutions to the dilemma of forced reorientation. These characters indicate how best to undertake a coming-to-terms with western society, while those characters who are unable to adapt sink into depression and mental illness. Significantly, in the postwall period Eastern German authors tend not to attack the socialist ideology or Marxism-Leninism directly, even though they do _____________ 8

Jost Hermand critiques the lack of political engagement of German authors after 1989 in "Diskursive Widersprüche. Fragen an Heiner Müllers 'Autobiografie,'" Das Argument 35 (1993) 198: 255-268, and Helmut Peitsch defends them in "Zur Rolle des Konzepts 'Engagement' in der Literatur der 90er Jahre: "ein gemeindeutscher Ekel gegenüber der 'engagierten Literatur'"?," Schreiben nach der Wende. Ein Jahrzehnt deutscher Literatur 1989-1999, ed. Gerhard Fischer and David Roberts (Tübingen: Stauffenburg, 2001) 41-48.

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blame a fixation on its tenets and the rigidity of the GDR system for the problems their protagonists face both before and after unification. A further, significant shift in the character of humor and satire from the formerly socialist East lies in the authors' new, generally tragicomic stance.9 The characters and settings they invent may provoke laughter, but they do not conceal the serious nature of the protagonists' precarious predicaments. Karl S. Guthke asserts that the modern tragicomedy is an expression of skepticism generated in periods of crisis.10 The loss of belief in absolutes "causes a decline in the development of 'pure' genres and favors the growth of synthetic genres."11 The incomprehensibility of their new environment pushes authors toward tragicomedy, rather than toward the optimism typically associated with comedy, as an explicit means to express their insecurity (Dexheimer 8). This tragicomic mode prevailed in the West in the twentieth century, mainly because of the experience of two world wars and the Cold War. Despite repeated government appeals for optimism in socialist literature, it was also not completely avoided in the East. Nevertheless, the ideological context of this emerging tragicomic perspective is new to authors who were socialized in a Marxist regime: [Marxists] reject the skeptical attitude which often is seen as a constituent of tragicomedy. The human environment is not incomprehensible to Marxists since they are certain of understanding its basic law of development. This law is in their eyes the dialectical movement towards communism. Indeed the optimism implicit in the Marxist concept of comedy is largely based on the belief that since humans can comprehend their environment they can influence its development. Thus they can assert themselves as subjects, not the manipulated objects of their surroundings. (Dexheimer 9)

Based on these premises, adherents of Marxism believe in the ultimate rationality of the subject and his or her power to change society. In order for society to be altered, however, it must be fully comprehensible. The incomprehensible, conversely, cannot be influenced in the same direct way. Because the collapse of their purportedly Marxist country ushered in a period of relative chaos and instability, it is no wonder Eastern German authors turned in particular to the tragicomical to express their confusion in the face of society's new unfathomability. Since they also recognized the paradoxical irrationality in the GDR, _____________ 9

10 11

See Matthias Schümann, "Die Wende als Witz. Geteilte Perspektiven auf ein politisches Großereignis," Zeiten-Wende. Wendeliteratur, ed. Wolfgang Gabler and Nikolaus Werz (Weimar and Rostock: Edition M, 2000) 93-116, and Twark, "Humor and Satire in PostUnification Eastern German Prose," diss., University of Wisconsin-Madison, 2002, 344-46. Modern Tragicomedy: An Investigation into the Nature of the Genre (New York: Random House, 1966). Carol Sue Dexheimer summarizes Guthke's theory in Peter Hacks' Plays: Socialist Comedy in the German Democratic Republic, diss., Brown University, 1977, 8.

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despite its Marxist ideological basis, along with the contradictions inherent in any free-market democracy, the authors combine tragic and comic elements in varying proportions to highlight the ambiguities present in all individuals and ideologies, no matter when they exist or in what type of system. They emphasize the difficulties people can have distinguishing between "good" and "bad" intentions and actions on all levels, from the microcosm that includes close friends and family up to the macrocosms of government, the Stasi, or the Treuhand. Now that skepticism of this kind is permitted, these writers embrace it as a creative impulse. Regarding the aesthetic form of postwall Eastern German satirical novels, particular satirical techniques are characteristically blended in each text, corresponding to the tragicomic nature of their contents. Among the most widespread of these techniques, spanning a great number and variety of texts, are the naïve gaze as an autobiographical and reductive narrative style; the carnivalesque and the grotesque, which are found in narrative, language, body images, and scatological scenes; and the picaresque. Because these techniques and genres appear in many postwall satirical texts, including those discussed in this study, but also in many not featured here, they are summarized below. Each scholar's theoretical approach, the advantages and disadvantages of which are mentioned, characterizes a significant segment of postwall satirical literature. Tanja Nause's new definition of the narrative technique she calls "inszenierte Naivität" breaks ground in the field of post-unification literary studies and could be used in future as an interpretive tool to revise views of postwar German literature and more recent texts as well. According to Nause, the main characteristics of the naïve gaze are: 1) a reduction in complexity and in point of view to the fate of a single individual, which results from the author's feelings of insecurity and/or desire to depict such insecurity; 2) the creation of regressive characters possessing a childlike mentality and weak or unstable identities, which can be interpreted as a utopian stance if readers perceive it as freeing the characters from authoritarian structures; and 3) the use of characters who are Sonderlinge—fools, eccentrics, or others who do not consciously choose to play the roles they are given, but are viewed and treated as outsiders by the societies in which they live (Nause, Inszenierung 37-41). Nause argues that many Eastern German authors turned to the naïve gaze while living in the West before 1989 and after unification because they were compelled, like their fellow citizens, to reorient themselves to unfamiliar sociopolitical structures.12 They furthermore adopted this technique as a _____________ 12

The novels and Erzählungen Nause discusses are: Christoph D. Brumme's Nichts als das and Tausend Tage, Helga M. Novak's Die Eisheiligen and Vogel federlos, Kerstin Hensel's Tanz am

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means to encapsulate their memories of the GDR, to overcome feelings of loss and alienation, and to critique prevailing social circumstances. Because of its originality and applicability to many current, as well as earlier and future texts, Nause's approach to post-Wende humor and satire should become a primary lens through which this literature is viewed and taught. Nevertheless, the "naïve gaze" is limited to texts narrated in the first-person and thus excludes other narrative points of view. Moreover, as I have argued in Chapter 2, the picaresque should not be abandoned as a descriptor for novels that adhere to most of its features. In their monographs, Markus Symmank and Daniel Sich determine the carnivalesque, as a subversive, destabilizing, and yet reaffirming form of the grotesque, to be another overarching aesthetic category preferred by Eastern German authors in the late '80s and '90s. Das Karnevalslachen ist immer ambivalent, es vereint Spott und Jubel, Verneinung und Behauptung zugleich in sich. So wie das Karnevalsleben nicht einfach als Gegenmodell zur ausgegrenzten, offiziellen Welt zu verstehen ist, so artikuliert sich auch im Karnevalslachen eine Wahrheit des Anderen: Gelebt und gefeiert wird die Wahrheit der Ambivalenz." (Sich, Staatsgegnerschaft 102)

This ambivalence lies at the heart of what Alexander von Bormann first referred to as the "schiefes Grinsen" ("sardonic smirk") posture in Eastern German humorous and satirical texts that both affirm and satirically deconstruct unification's contradictory effects (Sich, Staatsgegnerschaft 13). Like Nause, who defined the naïve gaze systematically, Sich breaks the Bakhtinian carnivalesque into four characteristics: 1) eccentricity, which is manifested in a character's resistance to assuming a social role imposed on him or her; 2) familiarization, in which alienation and fear of the Other are overcome as groups of people from different social strata and positions as actors or spectators unite in a "play without a stage"; 3) mésalliance, in which sacred and profane, high and low, great and small, wise and ignorant are coupled together; and 4) profanization (Profanierung), or the blasphemous degradation of the official worldview, in which sacred texts and rituals are parodied and "turned on their heads" (Sich, Staatsgegnerschaft 103-5). Symmank and Sich emphasize the regenerative and liberating power of the carnivalesque in times of insecurity and fear. As demonstrated in this study, even if the carnivalesque or the grotesque are not the predominant genres displayed in a particular text, most Eastern German satirists incorporate them in one way or another into these texts. Because most post-Wende satires are not predominantly carnivalesque, this interpretive mode is also of limited use when viewing the trend in toto. _____________ Kanal, Thomas Brussig's Helden wie wir, Jens Sparschuh's Der Zimmerspringbrunnen and Lavaters Maske, and Fritz Rudolph Fries's Der Roncalli-Effekt.

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Last but not least, the extent to which Eastern German authors rely on the picaresque and the German-language Schelmenroman tradition should not be underestimated. Although their works often assume hybrid generic forms that elude the picaresque label, authors like Rosenlöcher, Schirmer, Sparschuh, Brussig, Biskupek, Ulbrich, Braun, and Hensel elected to tie their figures to this tradition. Moreover, many of its traits, such as the outsider-narrator (Nause's Sonderling and Bakhtin's eccentric), the confessional guise, moral ambiguity and opportunistic or criminal behavior, moving to various locations and social classes, and an episodic narrative structure, can be found to varying degrees in all ten texts in this study. Despite their preference for one or the other technique like the naïve gaze, the carnivalesque/grotesque, the picaresque, or ironic realism, all authors here, as well as many that Nause, Symmank, and Sich showcase, eventually incorporate the entire satirical spectrum in their texts. This rich display indicates that Eastern authors really did take advantage of the new freedoms granted to them in the 1990s. Nevertheless, in order to assess each author's specific satirical approach, one of my main goals has been to demonstrate the usefulness of viewing their texts through the lens of familiar genres.

Satirical Stereotypes and Unruly Identities These authors often call past and present societal structures, along with historically "objective" or other notions of GDR history, into question, but their use of stereotypes is one conspicuous aspect that ties their texts together in perpetuating these same structures. The use of character types is a frequently applied satirical technique that renders a text accessible to a wide range of people and explicitly reveals satire's corrective function. Because types do not require much elaboration to be understood, they also serve as a popularizing element that invites the readers' judgment into the text. Constructing and propagating stereotypes in postwall Germany, however, calcifies divisions between Eastern and Western Germans. The ten satirical texts here display several such prevalent Eastern and Western types: the unemployed, depressed Eastern German loser; the Eastern German opportunist; and the Western German who is not interested in the Eastern perspective on unification and either wishes to profit from the new business opportunities in the East or desires somehow to help, but goes about it the wrong way. The authors focus on these types to reveal their specific perspective on unification's effects: most of these types draw reader sympathy toward the East and condemnation toward the West. As Freud postulated in Der Witz und seine Beziehung zum Unbewußten, "Witz"

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generally works better than straightforward argumentation or defamation to win a person over to one's point of view (116-17). Roswitha Skare provides meaningful reasons for the emergence of such stereotypes: [A]t times of social upheaval questions of identity are accorded greater importance. This is the case particularly because such issues tend to go hand in hand with private crises in which individuals begin to question their personal histories. At times like these, the desire to be able to identify oneself with others increases, while at the same time the drive to differentiate oneself from the 'Other' is unmistakeable. We need these images of ourselves and of the 'Other', we need stereotypes "zur Strukturierung der Welt, benötigen vereinfachte Darstellungen der Andersartigkeit, um unsere Ängste zu lokalisieren, um uns selbst zu beweisen, daß das, was wir fürchten, nicht in uns selbst liegt". Although East and West Germans naturally have much in common, the emergence as well as the continued existence and development of an East German identity after the fall of the GDR can be explained by the human need for cohesiveness and mutuality, as well as by the need for delimitation.13

The satirists in this study provoke laughter and condemnation by perpetuating stereotypes, thereby contributing to the reduction and abstraction of Eastern and Western German mentalities. Such abstractions are needed in times of turmoil, however, in order to stabilize the identity of the affected group(s). By creating and perpetuating stereotypes, these authors demonstrate that laughter is not only destructive, but also constructive and political, despite its otherwise nonprescriptive nature. Harsh stereotypes may offend individuals who believe they are being attacked personally, whether they fulfill the criteria of these stereotypes or not. Stereotyping can also be dangerous, as in the case of the Nazi demonization of Communists and Jews that led to the Holocaust. However, in this group of texts both East(ern) and West(ern) Germans are depicted stereotypically. Any blame or guilt for Eastern German tribulations is not "dumped" solely on one side or the other (except in Brussig's Helden wie wir, which ignores West Germany, but does vilify the Stasi and the older generation of East Germans). Spotlighting stereotypes in extended fictional portraits enables readers to probe questions such as: "Why do such stereotypes exist?"; "Are these portraits accurate?"; and "Is this how I view (my fellow) Eastern or Western Germans?" Reinhard Ulbrich describes this awareness-raising function of humor as he observed it at readings attended by both Eastern and Western Germans: _____________ 13

"'Real life within the false one': Manifestations of East German Identity in PostReunification Texts," After the GDR: New Perspectives on the Old GDR and the Young Länder, German Monitor 54, ed. Lawrence McFalls and Lothar Probst (Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 2001) 185-205, 186. Skare cites Sander L. Gilman, Rasse, Sexualität und Seuche. Stereotype aus der Innenwelt der westlichen Kultur (Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1992) 308.

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Ich habe teilweise auch erlebt, dass die Westdeutschen meinen, die Ostdeutschen in Schutz nehmen zu müssen. Dann gab es natürlich die Gegenreaktion, dass die Ostdeutschen meinten, sie haben es nicht nötig, von der anderen Seite sich verteidigen zu lassen. Das waren absurde Vertreterkriege, die ausgefochten wurden. Man kann nur darüber lachen, wie die Leute sich gegenseitig beargen. Man ist mitunter befriedigt, dass man selbst der Auslöser dieser ganzen Geschichte war, und dass man das gesagt hat, was latent da gewesen ist. Das Lachen hat vielleicht die Funktion, zwischen zwei Ausbrüchen von Humor eine Botschaft transportieren zu können, die sonst so nicht sagbar ist. Die Leute öffnen sich dadurch und nehmen Dinge auf, die ihnen sonst eher abstoßend vorkommen würden. (Appendix 5, 408)

Only by concretizing predominently held stereotypes and then depicting deviations from them—which the authors here certainly do, notably by turning the otherwise obedient Stasi trainee Uhltzscht into a sexual pervert, or by having Lobek's speaking disorder lead to professional success—can one grant readers the chance to realize that most people do not fit such rigid molds and promote tolerance for the Other. Questions about stereotyping become particularly acute when the Stasi is depicted in the media or a work of art. Can Germans tolerate and eventually even forgive or forget former members of the East German secret police? If prominent intellectuals like Christa Wolf or Fritz Rudolph Fries are exposed as having worked for the Stasi, should their literary works be reevaluated and/or rejected? Should people make black-andwhite distinctions between Stasi officers and Inoffiziellen Mitarbeitern on the one hand, and ordinary, "innocent" East German citizens on the other? Although harsh condemnations of the Stasi exist in nonfictional and fictional literary texts, including many Eastern and Western German satires, it is of interest to note that cinematic portrayals of the Stasi in the 1990s tended to downplay its threatening nature by depicting its members comically.14 In assessing the ways the Stasi has been treated in postwall comical and satirical literature and film specifically, two unexpected conclusions can be made. First, the threatening nature of the organization _____________ 14

Was bleibt? by Christa Wolf, Die Stasi war mein Eckermann by Erich Loest, Ich by Wolfgang Hilbig, Ein weites Feld by Günter Grass, and other such texts do not trivialize the Stasi. Several recent scholarly studies are devoted to analyzing the ways German authors have depicted the Stasi over the past two decades. These include Paul Cooke and Andrew Plowman's German Writers and the Politics of Culture: Dealing with the Stasi (2003) and Franz Huberth's Die Stasi in der deutschen Literatur (2003). The video collection "Stasi als Thema in der Literatur" on timms: Tübinger Internet Multimedia Server grants public access to recorded lectures from the Universität Tübingen on this subject. See especially Johanna Bohley's lecture, "Hoftaller, Uhltzscht und andere 'Helden'. Konfigurationen des Komischen in der Nachwendeliteratur," and Kerstin Hensel's reading, entitled "Lesung aus den Gedichten: Auditorium Panopticum, Tanz am Kanal" on timms: Tübinger Internet Multimedia Server, ZDV Universität Tübingen 2005, 12 September 2006 .

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is comically deflated instead of hyperbolically inflated, which has earned books and films like Helden wie wir and Sonnenallee significant criticism; and second, until recently, serious cinematic, non-documentary depictions of the Stasi that recreate the paranoia and fear it could induce have for the most part been avoided. The biggest blockbuster films that thematize the East(ern) German experience—Go, Trabi, Go; Helden wie wir; Sonnenallee; or Goodbye, Lenin!—either ignore the Stasi altogether or relegate it to a subordinate position in a greater, feel-good narrative that nostalgically idealizes the GDR as a place that was "cool," or at least equally attractive and as beloved a homeland as the FRG. In 2006, however, a new film was produced that does not trivialize or downplay Stasi crimes and their psychological effects on GDR citizens. At long last, Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck's drama Das Leben der Anderen depicts the darker sides of life in the GDR.15 Until now, directors of ostalgic films like Peter Timm, Leander Haußmann, Sebastian Petersen, and Wolfgang Becker capitalized on a nearly universal consumer demand for sympathetic and entertaining portrayals of the GDR, contributing to the construction of a positive Eastern German identity largely free of bitterness or resentment toward the former lack of consumer goods, the totalitarian government, Cold War tensions, and so forth. Despite, and perhaps precisely because of, the witchhunt conducted against former Stasi Mitarbeiter after unification, the need to deal with the Stasi in a similar, condemnatory way may not have been felt necessary in a cinematic context. The fact that Das Leben der Anderen won the Academy Award in 2007 testifies to the film's realistic and nuanced capturing of Stasi-induced terror and to the topic's continuing relevance. To counter the stabilizing effects of the above stereotypes, the Eastern German authors in this study deploy other literary techniques to critique and dislocate the existing societal order and/or to deconstruct views of the GDR. In the Introduction I suggested that although these texts emerge out of a specific sociohistorical context, and are therefore symptomatic, the authors call the configuration of this context into question. The authors act out their discontent in the language they use, the exposure of Western and Eastern societal abuses from the postwar to the postwall period, and the construction of unruly, proactive protagonists. The novel or near-novel length of their texts allows them to develop their characters—at least their central narrators—and thus to show more of the actual person behind the stereotype despite the satirical exaggeration. One powerful stereotype they deflate is the Western view of East(ern) Germans as primitive and backward. In Representing East Germany since _____________ 15

Das Leben der Anderen, dir. Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, Buena Vista, 2006.

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Unification: From Colonization to Nostalgia (2005), Paul Cooke delves into the ramifications of this stereotype by analyzing the Western colonialist approach to Easterners using post-colonial theories put forth over the past few decades by Homi Bhabha, Edward Said, Stuart Hall, Couze Venn, and others (Cooke 14-20). Cooke explores the evolution of this relationship throughout the 1990s and into the early twenty-first century, as it was gradually transformed into a more positive cultural side effect of unification, and as both Easterners and Westerners began to enjoy (generally humorous) cultural representations of Ostalgie. In the satirical texts discussed here, one can detect a similar move from depictions of Western German colonization toward Ostalgie, although—and this is important—this nostalgia is generally held at bay in texts that I consider truly satirical, and not simply humorous entertainment, such as Brussig's later comic film and novel Sonnenallee (1999), Michael Tetzlaff's Ostblöckchen. Neues aus der Zone (2004), or Daniel Wiechmann's Immer bereit! Von einem Pionier, der auszog, das Glück zu suchen (2004). The literary texts in this study explain from an insider's perspective where impressions of Eastern German backwardness come from, and they do so in sophisticated ways that demonstrate the authors (and their fellow Eastern Germans) not to be as simple as predominant Western stereotypes imply. Their comical figures incorporate the authors' own complex, critical thoughts which, if acknowledged, might prevent Eastern Germans from being viewed generally as stupid or backward, and might show them rather as defiant social actors and/or victims cognizant of their minority position in Germany, even though some were (and still are) unable to break out of the unemployment or early retirement trap. These figures possess Trotzidentitäten in several senses: they represent alternatives to common stereotypes; they critique past and present-day Germany satirically, including a postwall public discourse dominated by the West that distorted Easterners' perceptions of their own past life experiences; and they speak to the creativity and intelligence of their authors. These authors fashion protagonists who move within and act on, but also ponder, their respective environments, countering Western prejudices against Easterners that peg them as backward, passive, and/or plaintive. The tension produced by the complex blending of comical affirmation in the form of stereotypes, with moments when these stereotypes are refuted, as well as with aesthetic strategies that fictionalize and thereby reject contemporary and/or past recorded history, create an ambiguity in these texts that indicates they do not belong to the realm of trivial literature.

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The Quandary of Utopia The question of utopia has proven to be a central topic flowing through the discourse surrounding East(ern) German adjustments to unification. As interesting as the individual views of utopia that Eastern authors have formulated, both openly and covertly, in their narratives and in published interviews, is the fact that they are all assumed to have an opinion on the subject. Just because an individual was socialized in a socialist country or writes satirical literature, however, does not mean that (s)he must adhere to a utopian ideology like socialism. Eastern satirists' works more often depict dystopian settings than utopian visions, and generally do not hold up any specific ideology or political system as an ideal. Instead, they show how individual or peer agency determines success or failure in repressive, unfair, or chaotic circumstances, turning the personal into the political once again. The word "utopia" can have two quite different meanings based on which original Greek word one adopts as its etymology. "Outopia" means "no place" and "eutopia" means "a good or pleasant place." Here I refer to the meaning "a good place," because this concept best describes the implied utopian states of being in the primary texts. Traditionally, satire is a mode through which criticism is exercised and utopian counterpositions are implied, and this definition still applies to postwall Eastern German literary satire, even though many such narratives are structured in the form of a retreat to the "Private, Eigene, Autobiographische," as Jost Hermand lamented in 1993 ("Diskursive Widersprüche" 255). Hermand bemoans the fact that literary engagement had become passé in (Eastern) Germany by the late 1980s and early '90s: [a]n ihre Stelle ist bei vielen eine Ideologie-, Staats- und Systemverdrossenheit getreten, die im Zuge des allgemeinen Werteverlusts nur noch das Unengagierte – meist das betont Egoistische, Materialistische, Karrierebetonte oder bestenfalls Psychologische, Geschlechtsspezifische, Biologische – als einzige Möglichkeit eines authentischen Verhaltens anerkannt. ("Diskursive Widersprüche" 255)

Although many Eastern satires take the form of fictional autobiographies, all authors in this study critique egoism, materialism, or extreme career ambitions to varying degrees. The appropriate question to ask here is thus not whether a utopia exists, but rather, what form(s) it takes in each text, all of which demonstrate political engagement. In interviews conducted with these authors and in their fictional utopian or dystopian episodes, diverse notions of what constitutes "a good place" can be found. None of them presents or implies a systematic solution to sociopolitical ills as the Marxist ideology had done, but all insinuate through their criticisms that the GDR did achieve certain utopian goals like providing full

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employment, housing, and food for all East Germans. Most also imply that life in postwall Germany could be better for many Eastern Germans. In general, concepts of utopia in these satires can be broken down into six categories, presented here more or less in order of frequency. First, satirical negation implies the opposite of, or something different from, what it depicts could have been or should be the case.16 Second, utopian ideals are depicted as a set of personal or humanitarian values (Levitas 121), like the desire to work and be productive, to care for another living being, or to protect the environment. Third, utopia is depicted not as "no place on earth," but rather as "eutopia," meaning "a good place." Alexander von Bormann notes that this version of utopia has manifested itself in a specific type of postwall narration: the anecdote. Resembling what Ernst Bloch referred to as Spuren (traces), these amusing autobiographical stories are weapons Eastern German authors wield to overcome negative public depictions and opinions of the GDR or to package negative events in an entertaining form.17 Fourth, artistic endeavors, especially the expression of creativity through literature, painting, music, or play are endorsed as alternatives to capitalist commodification of the individual. Fifth, utopian warnings like Braun's censuring of unfettered hedonism or Hensel's volcanic apocalypse are issued as an appeal to avoid future problems or disasters. Lastly, individual Marxist tenets are referenced as alternatives to capitalist practices. The strong socialist supporter Volker Braun is one of very few Eastern German authors who still advocates for Marxism as a viable counter_____________ 16

17

Irmgard Elsner Hunt discusses how the concept of utopia here and in point five are exhibited in Volker Braun's Bodenloser Satz (1990), F. C. Delius's Birnen von Ribbek (1991), and Günter Grass's Ein weites Feld (1995) ("Erinnerung an die Zukunft. Über das utopische Moment in der deutschen 'Wendeliteratur'," Zeitgenössische Utopieentwürfe in Literatur und Gesellschaft. Zur Kontroverse seit den achtziger Jahren, ed. Rolf Jucker (Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1997) 191-207. Hunt cites Herbert Marcuse (Der eindimensionale Mensch, Neuwied: Luchterhand, 1967) and Ernst Bloch (Das Prinzip Hoffnung, Berlin: Aufbau, 1955) as originators of the concept, arguing that Bloch's idea of envisioning a better future in the present also conforms to a definition of utopia as representing how things could be. Von Bormann, "Gebremstes Leben, Groteske und Elegie. Zur Literatur in den neuen Bundesländern seit der Wende," Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte. Beilage zur Wochenzeitung Das Parlament 13, 20 March 1998, 36-37. Bloch writes: "Man achte grade auf kleine Dinge, gehe ihnen nach. [...] Kurz, es ist gut, auch fabelnd zu denken. Denn so vieles eben wird nicht mit sich fertig, wenn es vorfällt, auch wo es schön berichtet wird. Sondern ganz seltsam geht mehr darin um, der Fall hat es in sich, dieses zeigt oder schlägt er an. Geschichten dieser Art werden nicht nur erzählt, sondern man zählt auch, was darin geschlagen hat oder horcht auf: was ging da. [...] [E]in Merke, das schon ist, nimmt kleine Vorfälle als Spuren und Beispiele. Sie deuten auf ein Weniger oder Mehr, das erzählend zu bedenken, denkend wieder zu erzählen wäre; das in den Geschichten nicht stimmt, weil es mit uns und allem nicht stimmt. Manches läßt sich nur in solchen Geschichten fassen, nicht im breiteren, höheren Stil" (Spuren, rev. ed., Berlin and Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1959, 15-16).

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ideology to capitalism. Most other authors view utopia not as the total restructuring of society, but rather as a set of values or a type of decisionmaking that is pragmatic, but still favors the greatest good for the greatest number of people (or animals, or the environment). As stated above, none of the ten authors attacks the socialist ideology as an ideology, but nearly all criticize how this ideology was interpreted and instrumentalized by the GDR government and media to manipulate socialist citizens. These authors either poke fun at citizens who were brainwashed by GDR Marxist rhetoric, or emphasize how other citizens saw through it and managed to maintain an individual identity despite official state efforts to impose conformity. The ability to write poetry or otherwise express creativity, the joys of connecting with nature, or successful interpersonal relationships lead the list of utopian states of being. This concept of utopia fits better the definition Thomas More, who invented the term, accorded to it as "a pleasurable existence" rather than "no place on earth," or the perfectly ordered nation-state. Discussions of what constitutes idealism or political activism in postwall (Eastern) German literature range widely. Helmut Peitsch's summary of the engagement in Burmeister's Unter dem Namen Norma and the Western author Uwe Timm's Johannisnacht (1996), a hilarious, romping quest novel about a West German author's post-Wende mishaps in East Berlin, aptly sums up much of what postwall literary satire accomplishes: "erstens die Entdeckung des Alltags, zweitens die Verweigerung der Medialisierung der gesellschaftlichen Wirklichkeit, drittens die Achtung vor dem, was gesellschaftlich als das andere ausgegrenzt wird" (Peitsch 47). From a sociological perspective, Dietrich Mühlberg describes the specifically Eastern German concept of democracy as one perhaps surprising utopian result of having been socialized in a socialist country: "übereinstimmend war und ist der Gedanke, Demokratie müsse es jedem ermöglichen, in allen ihn betreffenden Angelegenheiten mitreden zu können."18 This concept of democracy as residing in every individual must essentially lead to discontentment in any existing nation, since up to now _____________ 18

Dietrich Mühlberg, "Vom langsamen Wandel der Erinnerung an die DDR," Kulturation 1 (2003) . Mühlberg exchanged the paragraph in which this quote appears for one that differs entirely from the original, previously published in Verletztes Gedächtnis. Erinnerungskultur und Zeitgeschichte im Konflikt, ed. Konrad H. Jarausch and Martin Sabrow (Frankfurt a. M. and New York: 2002) 217-251, 223. The printed article from 2002 contains a quote by the historian Ines Langelüddecke, in which she expresses her disappointment at the resignation and lack of political engagement of her "sandwich" generation, which was in its teens and twenties when the Berlin Wall fell, and can identify neither with their parents nor with the FRG ("Wir Mauerkinder," Berliner Republik 6 [2001] 11). Mühlberg apparently revised his article to express a more positive view of East(ern) German attitudes toward democracy.

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none has been created in which every person's voice is or can be heard. Nevertheless, the belief that one's voice should be heard is a utopian ideal that may yet distinguish Easterners from Westerners, and explains partly why Easterners, who see themselves simply as speaking up for their rights, have been viewed as Jammerer from a Western German perspective.19 Among Eastern German satirists, as well as Eastern German authors generally, the greatest difference between conceptions of utopia can often be found between generations, although biographical differences such as Erich Loest's time spent in West Germany and Kerstin Hensel's early career as an emergency room nurse have also colored their views of human nature and agency. While Brussig exaggerates this difference in Helden wie wir, condemning the older generation for its rigidity, reality tends to confirm the accuracy of his observations.20 Volker Braun clings to Marxism as an alternative to capitalism, but the other authors here have diverse views, ranging from Biskupek's concept of utopia as harmonious social relations to Hensel's erotic utopian fantasies. The consensus of the younger generation toward utopian ideologies is perhaps best summarized in the statements Schulze and Brussig made in a 1998 interview: Schulze: Ich bin sehr froh, daß die DDR zu Ende gegangen ist, und empfinde keine Trauer. Ich spüre eine starke literarische Generationsgrenze zu den vorherigen Generationen, die viel mehr in der DDR drinsteckten. Wir hatten das Glück, daß wir einen Anfang hatten, ohne richtig involviert zu sein. Brussig: Utopie ist mir zu hochgegriffen, aber ich habe nicht nur einen künstlerischen, sondern auch einen moralischen Anspruch. Eine Sehnsucht nach Gerechtigkeit empfinde ich schon. Schulze: Unsere Generation ist eher gegen Utopien gefeit. Es ist momentan eine Situation, in der man viel mehr sagen kann, dazu braucht man keine Utopie. Das sind relativ klare Sachen, die aber im Spiel der Mächte meist hinten runterfallen.21

Despite taking a moral stand in their works, Brussig in particular had his initial optimism about the effects of his novel Helden wie wir on German society dashed; the public discussion on the East German past he had hoped to provoke did not surface (Mühlberg 217-20). Instead, it was _____________ 19

20

21

Jens Bisky has attacked Eastern Germans for insisting nearly unanimously on possessing a distinct identity, which he describes as provincial, narrow-minded, and conformist. He blames the Ostalgie of the late '90s and early 21st century for contributing to their unwillingness to identify themselves more strongly with the FRG ("Zonensucht. Kritik der neuen Ostalgie," Merkur 58.2 [February 2004]: 117-127). See Wolfgang Emmerich, "Deutsche Intellektuelle: Was nun? Zum Funktionswandel der (ostdeutschen) literarischen Intelligenz zwischen 1945 und 1998," After the GDR: New Perspectives on the Old GDR and the Young Länder, ed. Lawrence H. McFalls and Lothar Probst (Amsterdam and Atlanta: Rodopi, 2001) 3-27. Emmerich also cites the quote from Brussig and Schulze on this page from Michael Neubauer's "Gefeit vor Utopien," in his article. Michael Neubauer, "Gefeit vor Utopien," Die Tageszeitung 5 October 1998, 15.

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elided by the Western German media and intellectuals because of their dominant position in unified Germany, and neglected by (Eastern) Germans who either simply laughed at the book (or along with it) or were offended by it. Brussig expressed his disappointment and disillusionment at how his book Helden wie wir was received in a 1999 interview: In "Helden wie wir" ging es um die nicht stattfindende Auseinandersetzung mit der DDR, die mich wirklich geärgert hat. Mittlerweile bin ich davon überzeugt, dass es dazu auch nicht mehr kommen wird. Die Chance ist vertan, weil zum einen die DDR langsam in Vergessenheit gerät. Und zum anderen wird es so etwas wie die 68er, das heißt, eine Generation, die ihre Eltern fragt, für die DDRVergangenheit nicht geben. Auch weil das demografische Gewicht Ostdeutschlands einfach nicht schwer genug ist, als dass eine Auseinandersetzung erfolgreich initiiert werden könnte.22

Perhaps the authors should not be blamed for their lack of engagement, but rather, the people who read them, as well as the greater German political discourse. As Mühlberg argues, this discourse shuts out alternatives, insisting that the East orient itself to the communicative and cultural memory of the Bundesrepublik (Mühlberg 217).23

The Paradox of Identity-Building Through Humor and Satire The paradox of identity-building through humor and satire is that these two modes tend to highlight and to deconstruct the negative aspects of specific human mentalities, lifestyles, and social contexts, thus promoting negative images of their objects, whether the authors' purpose is, at the same time, to garner sympathy for these objects or not. In engaging with Eastern German satire, readers may be turned off to East(ern) Germany or its citizens if they see this humor as a form of ridicule or Schadenfreude. In a recent backlash against widespread feelings of Ostalgie and its popular cultural manifestations, Jens Bisky argues that Eastern German nostalgia for the past has led to a trivialization and idealization of the GDR experience. This idealization discourages the open and honest discussion of the more negative aspects not only of this past, but also of examples of resistance to the GDR Alltag (Bisky 118). Furthermore, he castigates what he sees as an Eastern German defensiveness regarding how the GDR past should be depicted: _____________ 22 23

Volker Gunske and Sven S. Poser, "Nachdenken über Thomas B.," Tip-Magazin 21 (1999). The interview can be accessed at under "Interviews." Mühlberg cites these theoretical terms coined by Aleida and Jan Assmann in their article "Kollektives Gedächtnis und kulturelle Identität," from Kultur und Gedächtnis, ed. Jan Assmann and Tonio Hölscher (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1988) 9-19.

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Der Kurzschluß zwischen persönlichen Erinnerungen und historischen, politischen Fragen ist Teil jenes gentleman's agreement zwischen Ost und West, das wie ein kultureller Sieg der Ostdeutschen wirkt: Die Wahrheit über den Osten bedarf der Zustimmung der Ostdeutschen, weil nur auf diese Weise Authentizität zu sichern ist. (Bisky 120)

Many scholarly publications and satirical texts from the 1990s work against Bisky's arguments, however, by depicting the harsher sides of the GDR. The latter poke fun both at Western views of the East and at Easterners' ways of staging their own identities. The novels by Hensel and Brussig in this study definitely keep memories of the more traumatic sides of the GDR alive, while the other novels deconstruct initially euphoric Eastern German attitudes toward unification. Whether or not Eastern Germans supported the GDR government or socialism as an ideology until 1989, when the GDR was united with the Federal Republic, the vast majority of its laws, institutions, and consumer products, along with most of its GDR-specific vocabulary, were lost. Sensing this loss and watching it occur for a time on a daily basis led to a flurry of activity to preserve the past, resulting in the production of multiple historical, (auto)biographical, and fictional texts. By pointing out and exaggerating these and similar compulsive urges to preserve the past, satirists can force readers to take a step back and laugh at them, creating critical distance to work through the past and the attendant feelings of loss. At the same time, by pointing out the absurdities and contradictions of the socialist system, satirists can preserve a collective identity while not ignoring the system's flaws. The downside to treating such flaws humorously, perhaps at times too lightly, is that negative memories may be suppressed. Authors like Loest, Brussig, and Hensel work hard to prevent the idealization or the production of nostalgic feelings for this past, whereas Rosenlöcher, Schirmer, Biskupek, and Ulbrich more openly display feelings of loss, along with positive and negative memories of this past. Attesting to the continuing attention that Eastern German authors pay to the ways their past has been and continues to be worked through is the fact that they continue to write new books on this subject, viewing it from different angles. In 2006 Stefan Maelck revisited GDR history and proposed yet another way it might be constructed in a satire entitled Pop essen Mauer auf. Wie der Kommunismus den Pop erfand und sich somit selbst abschaffte. Maelck caricatures the SED government and its top-secret Cold War strategies to undermine the West by devising the preposterous scheme that all western pop music was invented and marketed by the Stasi to intoxicate western youth and thereby destabilize the West, but that this music later influenced GDR citizens to topple the Berlin Wall.24 _____________ 24

Berlin: Rowohl, 2006.

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A further, significant constituent of Eastern German identity-building results from communication barriers between East and West, based on the physical, sociopolitical, and ideological division of the two countries for forty years. Research conducted on East and West German lifestyles suggests that "the GDR's collectivist culture was more homogeneous than that in the individualist West, where there existed a pluralization of lifestyles."25 After unification, although these and other mental and geographical divisions persisted (most Eastern Germans did not move to the West after unification), the Easterners' image of their former country changed. While it existed, socialist progress was at least publicly praised, and most people adjusted to the daily hardships and the need to comport oneself differently in public and in private. After unification, not only did the sociopolitical structures become Western, but the discourse surrounding the GDR past also became dominated by the Western media, which focused largely on demonizing the Stasi and GDR government oppression. Furthermore, the homogenization described above was given more credibility as Eastern Germans strove to hold onto aspects of the past they had shared. Tiffani Howell describes how Eastern German satirists contributed to this identity consolidation: Since Germany is mainly viewed as an enlarged West Germany, one way to assert the Eastern German's identity is to reject this representation and exaggerate an allegiance to the life s/he led in the former GDR, in other words, to create a virtual reality in which the Eastern German has power and control over his past, present, and future. Furthermore, the Eastern German identity (or "Ostdeutsche Identität") is more a sociocultural marker than one which references an "accurate" historical representation of the past, for the Eastern Germans' own lack of interest in "Erinnerungsorte" from the former GDR underscores the separation between history as it happened and a revised history that allows its participants to emphasize only certain positively evaluated events and phenomena. So, the issue is not simply coming to terms with the past, but rather staking a claim for oneself in a cultural landscape so heavily occupied by Western German phenomena. (Howell 89)

Howell argues that Eastern Germans used satirical humor not only to protest against predominant views of their past, present, and future, but also to assume responsibility for constructing their own individual and group identities. She asserts that humor and satire generally helped

_____________ 25

Tiffani Howell, "V/banished Identities: The Case of Eastern German Humor.," diss., U of California-Berkeley, 2004, 83. Howell cites Ursula Piontkowski and Sonja Öhlschlegel, Ost und West im Gespräch. Zur Bedeutung sozialer Kategorisierungen in der Kommunikation zwischen Ost- und Westdeutschen (Münster: LIT, 1999) 22.

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establish a specifically Eastern German identity (Howell 239-240).26 The persistent, strong feelings of sharing a common identity, distinct from the West, that Eastern Germans still bear (in 2001, 80% of Eastern Germans admitted to feeling closely tied to East Germany27), combined with the Eastern German authors' positive responses when asked whether their humorous stance assisted their readers in coming to terms with postwall adjustments, indicate that laughing at and with their fellow Eastern Germans, whether they be depicted in jokes, cabaret, literature, or film, has contributed to consolidating a distinct, Eastern German identity.

Positioning Eastern Humor in a Wider German Context The final question that remains to be answered here is of a broader nature than those treated above. Not only is it important to point out differences in the GDR and postwall practice of humor and satire, including both conservative and critical tendencies, but taking a look at the works' position and function in the larger body of German literature and culture at the cusp of the twenty-first century can shed light on their meaning for this culture as a whole. First and foremost, these satirists contribute to a specifically Eastern German discourse of criticism and identity-building following the Wende. They represent a part of the explanation for, but also a solution to, unification's problems. Using laughter, Eastern Germans call the Western German order into question and thereby assert their existence in this dominant culture, acting out their membership in it and raising their status since they do not passively accept their position as Other: "These are humorists who are highly critical of the positive spin surrounding reunification and [who] use humor not only to reveal the realities but also to create a new reality in which anything goes and they can control the discourse" (Howell 28). Capitalizing on the general German quest for humorous entertainment, the ten authors in this study achieved sufficient popularity to enjoy financial security in unified Germany despite fears that without GDR state support they might have had to struggle for subsistence.28 _____________ 26 27 28

For an analysis of how other Eastern German artworks and the media contributed to the construction of an Eastern German identity in the 1990s, see also Paul Cooke, Representing East Germany Since Unification: From Colonization to Nostalgia (Oxford, UK: Berg, 2005). Wolfgang Engler, Die Ostdeutschen als Avantgarde (Berlin: Aufbau, 2002). Many of these authors did not receive official GDR state support prior to 1990. After having been imprisoned for his political activities in the GDR, Loest moved to the West and earned his living as a freelance author there in the 1980s. Biskupek worked first as an engineer, then as a dramaturge and freelance author. He lost his position at the Gera

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The 1996 Spiegel article points to the specific position Eastern German humorous and satirical texts hold in the larger, new German "Spaßkultur." Under the subheading "Intelligenter Schelmenroman aus Deutschland Ost" the article supports the praise given to Helden wie wir and Der Zimmerspringbrunnen by a journalist of the Berlin newspaper Tagesspiegel: "Die jüngeren Autoren, notiert zufrieden der Berliner Tagesspiegel, 'wollen auf intelligente Weise unterhalten. Sie setzen auf den mündigen Rezipienten, der nicht belehrt oder aufgeklärt' werden müsse" ("Sei schlau" 184). I agree that these two texts, as well as the others in this study, entertain the reader intelligently, but disagree that they do not also "enlighten." In fact, they do afford readers an original perspective on the GDR and on postwall Eastern Germany. Sometimes this originality takes the form of unexpected plot twists, other times it opens up language to new significations, and on yet other occasions the text's form conflicts surprisingly with its content to provoke a re-evaluation of perceptions of the GDR or unification. What characterizes the satirical texts here, along with many others, is the Rabelaisian and Goethean (esp. Faust I) blending of intellectualism with folk humor. Their intelligence and sophistication ties them to a long German tradition of intellectual humor: "contrary to American humor, German humor favors linguistic complexity and tends toward overstatement"; German satirists prefer "einen banalen Sachverhalt in eine gedrechselte Sprache zu kleiden."29 Their imagined readers are assumed to possess a broad knowledge of history and the German literary canon. Their humor, however, clever as it is, is not always "top down humor, meaning that the humorist separates himself from the audience, looking down from on high to criticize his fellow human beings" (Howell 13). Instead, the authors often place themselves on a par with their narrators, depicting them perhaps as fools, but fools who can command the reader's respect. Incorporating scatology and the grotesque, the authors simultaneously place themselves in the German Schwank or folk humor traditions, which Gelfert argues were adhered to more closely in the GDR than in the FRG (Gelfert 140). Selecting Eastern German characters who are average citizens, and tying their fates to German and world humanist _____________

29

cabaret theater Fettnäppchen (held since 1979) in 1983 for producing texts that were too critical of SED party functionaries, and later wrote satirical commentaries and short stories for various GDR periodicals like the "Eulenspiegel" and Die Weltbühne, as he continues to do today. Schulze worked as a theater dramaturge before becoming a newspaper reporter in fall 1989, and Brussig worked odd jobs before unification, writing in his free time. Howell cites Hans-Dieter Gelfert, who refers to Friedrich Schiller, Friedrich Hölderlin, Thomas Mann, and Rainer Maria Rilke as examples of intellectual German humorists. (Howell 12-13 and Gelfert, Max und Monty. Kleine Geschichte des deutschen und englischen Humors (München: Beck, 1998, 139-40).

Positioning Eastern Humor in a Wider German Context

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cultural traditions, as well as to folk humor, is one of their many unique contributions to German literature of the 1990s. Although these Eastern German texts are not prescriptive as much GDR satire had been, they do still offer original, eye-opening insights into the difficulties Eastern Germans had in the GDR and during the unification process. The authors here take a depressing subject matter and make it entertaining and attractive to a wide group of people without losing a sense of the seriousness of the situation. They blend diverse concepts of utopia, including Marxism, with Enlightenment humanism and illustrate paradoxes in the GDR, while continuing to critique problems endemic to free-market societies. Their books sold well, but the authors did not "sell out." Ulbrich defends the writing of his compatriots by arguing that more serious literary texts may not have helped Eastern Germans cope with the blows unification dealt: Alle haben nach der Wende, dem Fall der Mauer und der Wiedervereinigung den großen Roman erwartet, aber der kam partout nicht. Thomas Brussig ist eine Zeit lang als der Autor des Wenderomans gehandelt worden. Aber es ist nie etwas Schweres, etwas Thomas Mann-artiges herausgekommen. Das haben offensichtlich die Literaturkritiker mehr erwartet, als die Autoren es vermisst haben. Es kamen dann Dinge, die eher leichter konsumierbar gewesen sind. Wobei ich Brussig nicht unbedingt als so leicht konsumierbar finde. Man muss eine Menge Kontext kennen, um die Details komisch zu finden. Aber das ist vielleicht nur der Tatsache geschuldet, dass die Nachwendeereignisse für viele Leute schon so traurig oder beschwerlich waren, dass dazu nicht noch eine beschwerliche Literatur gepasst hätte. Man hätte sie völlig heruntergedrückt. Nun ist das Anliegen dieser Autoren nicht, die Leute zu unterhalten, oder ihnen eine Freude zu machen, sondern sie [die Autoren] haben selber aus derselben Empfindung wie alle heraus etwas geschrieben. Vielleicht hat dies eine Grundstimmung, die geherrscht hat, ausgedrückt. Die wollte eher etwas Satirisches, etwas Zugespitztes, unter Umständen etwas Heiteres sogar, als etwas total Kopflastiges, was weiter herunterzieht. [...] Ich kann mir aber vorstellen, wenn man arbeitslos ist, wie Hunderttausende Mitte der neunziger Jahre waren, und zu Hause sitzt, und von seinem begrenzten Geld sich ein Buch absparen muss, dass er sich genau überlegt, was für ein Buch er sich zulegt, ob er dann etwas Unterhaltsames nimmt, was gar nichts mit den Umständen zu tun hat, oder vielleicht eine Geschichte, die leichter daherkommt, und ihn mit Ermunterung an seine gegenwärtige Situation führt oder ihm den Rücken stärkt. (Appendix 5, 402)

In the Eastern German self-defensive and ironic realist texts discussed here, humor and satire served the psychological function of assisting the authors and their public to deal with new and unfamiliar sociopolitical structures. In novels that revisit the GDR relying on picaresque or grotesque techniques, humor and satire can help authors and Eastern German readers to come to terms with the past and also provide Western

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German or non-German readers with alternate views of this past than those presented in the mass media or in history books. Literary historian Wolfgang Preisendanz discussed post-World War II German literature that deals with the past using humorous means and argued that literary versions of historical events often appear humorous simply because they supply details of everyday life excluded from official historical records.30 Literary texts can fill in the gaps left by scholars or journalists because they depict details that might otherwise be rejected. While detailed literary accounts of historical events may appear comical in the eyes of readers used to learning about history from history books and the mass media, they also illustrate underlying facts that might otherwise be repressed or forgotten. A few examples of such facts are the unexpected flexibilities in GDR society on which the picaresque protagonists capitalize, along with the private spaces they stake out for themselves, despite the supposed omnipresence of the GDR secret police and its informants. By exaggerating their protagonists' obsession with their colorful past, these authors additionally critique "an unhealthy obsession with the German past," especially the excessive focus on the GDR's "aberrant" development (Brockmann, "Politics" 43). Like other types of texts that problematize Eastern German memories and immediate daily experiences, satirical literature has played, and continues to play, an important role in constructing a specifically Eastern German identity. By preserving collective memories of the GDR and attacking social ills produced by unification, these texts assist Eastern Germans to redefine themselves as subjects in the larger German nation. At the same time, they show Westerners and others what separated the GDR from the FRG, both good and bad. The social commentary, intertextuality, and narrative sophistication, including the parodying of canonical German and international literature—techniques common to all ten novels—add to their complexity and value. All are original contributions to the giraffe-high pile of post-Wende literature from the Federal Republic of Germany.

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"Zum Vorrang des Komischen bei der Darstellung von Geschichtserfahrung in deutschen Romanen unserer Zeit," Das Komische, ed. Wolfgang Preisendanz and Rainer Warning (München: Wilhelm Fink, 1976) 153-164, 162-63.

Appendices

Appendix 1 Interview with Bernd Schirmer Berlin, 15 June 1999 Bernd Schirmer, 1940 in Leipzig geboren und im Erzgebirge aufgewachsen, studierte Germanistik und Anglistik in Leipzig. Von 1965 bis 1968 war er Hörspieldramaturg in Ostberlin, von 1969 bis 1972 unterrichtete er Deutsch an der Universität Algier. 1973 bis 1991 war er Dramaturg beim Deutschen Fernsehfunk in Ostberlin. In der DDR veröffentlichte er zahlreiche Texte: Erzählungen, Romane, Reisebeschreibungen, Drehbücher, Hörspiele und Übersetzungen. 1981 und 1984 gewann Schirmer DDR-Hörspielpreise. 1989 bekam er das Stipendium der Verlage beim Ingeborg-Bachmann-Wettbewerb in Klagenfurt für Teile des Romans Cahlenberg, der jedoch erst 1994 in einer kleinen Auflage beim Connewitzer Verlag in Leipzig erscheinen konnte. Kein anderer Verlag nahm den Text nach der Wende an, da er ausschließlich die Zeit vor 1989 darstellt. 1992 lief sein erstes Fernsehspiel, Tandem, im ZDF. 1992 wurde auch sein erfolgreichstes Buch, Schlehweins Giraffe, das die Wendezeit und ihre Folgen mit Hilfe einer Giraffe als Nebenfigur beschreibt, beim Eichborn Verlag (Frankfurt a. M.) veröffentlicht. Heute arbeitet Schirmer als Drehbuchautor der Fernsehserie Der Landarzt im Zweiten Deutschen Fernsehen (ZDF) und ist schriftstellerisch tätig. Jill Twark: Herr Schirmer, Sie haben in Ihrem 1994 veröffentlichten Roman Cahlenberg in den Schriften Ihres Protagonisten, des Doktoranden Richard Ostricharz, die Worte beigefügt: "Jede wissenschaftliche Beschäftigung, also auch meine bescheidene, hat ihren tieferen Zweck darin, das bestehende Regime zu begründen und zu festigen." Ob meine Dissertation dies tut, weiß ich nicht, aber mir geht es in dieser Doktorarbeit darum, einige nicht-kanonische, gesellschaftskritische ostdeutsche Autoren, die humoristische und satirische Texte vor und nach der Wende verfaßt haben, ans Licht zu bringen. Mir geht es auch um eine mögliche Umfunktionierung des Humors und der Satire in Ostdeutschland nach dem Fall der Mauer, sowie um das Potential von Humor und Satire, vorgefaßte Vorstellungen über Ostdeutschland und die

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Ostdeutschen zu durchbrechen, eben befestigte und neu-eingreifende Machtstrukturen schriftlich zu unterminieren. Mehr will ich nicht dazu sagen, denn ich möchte Ihre Antworten nicht beeinflussen. Twark: In Ihrer 1973 erschienenen Erzählung "Nach Jahr und Tag" aus Wo Moths wohnt hat Ihre Figur Wilfried Trilonka behauptet: "Nur was aufgeschrieben ist, ist geschehen." Würden Sie dies bestätigen? Bernd Schirmer: Naja, das ist eine etwas vermessene Aussage, aber wenn Sie das einen Schriftsteller fragen, der von der Wichtigkeit seiner Arbeit überzeugt ist, würde ich es schon so sagen, daß eine schriftliche Fixierung doch etwas Bleibendes ist, was über das Temporäre hinausgeht. Twark: Heiner Müller hat in Das Liebesleben der Hyänen geschrieben: "Der historische Blick auf die DDR ist von einer moralischen Sichtblende verstellt, die gebraucht wird, um Lücken der eigenen moralischen Totalität zu schließen. Die Funktion der Medien in diesem Verdrängungsprozeß bestimmt sich aus dem Systemzwang, die Probleme der Zentren an die Peripherie zu delegieren. Der Rand wird Zone, das Problem wird eine Nachricht." Betrachten Sie Ihre eigenen Werke als eine Alternative zur Sicht der Medien oder der Historiker auf die DDR und ihre Geschichte, vor und nach der Wende? Schirmer: Das würde ich auf alle Fälle sagen, und ich glaube auch, das sagen zu können, weil ich die Medien kenne. Meine Arbeit ist immer zweigleisig gewesen. Ich bin auf der einen Seite Schriftsteller, freier Schriftsteller gewesen, und bin es jetzt noch, und ich habe auf der anderen Seite zu DDR-Zeiten gleichzeitig fest angestellt beim Fernsehen, in den Medien gearbeitet. Eigentlich hat es etwas Schizophrenes, etwas Janusköpfiges, aber es ist auch ganz produktiv, weil man immer ganz gut die Funktion der Instrumentarien durchschauen und durchlöchern kann. Ich habe sehr ernsthaft beim Fernsehen gearbeitet, allerdings auf einem speziellen Gebiet. Ich habe vor allen Dingen Literaturverfilmungen betreut, war also nicht ganz so nah an der Tagespolitik, aber in so einem Betrieb ragt das natürlich immer herein, und man bekommt die Fragwürdigkeit der Medien ganz gut mit, und hat dann doch als Autor ein sehr großes Bedürfnis, etwas anderes, einen anderen Blick oder eine andere Wahrheit dagegen zu setzen, und das ist übrigens so geblieben. Über das sozialistische System hinaus sind die Funktionsweisen sehr, sehr ähnlich, und was die Aufarbeitung der DDR betrifft, glaube ich besonders beobachtet zu haben, daß es wirklich nicht genügt, sich auf die funktionierenden Medien zu verlassen. Man muß etwas dagegen setzen. Es ist sehr wichtig, die individuelle Erfahrung als etwas Authentisches einzubringen, und dazu ist natürlich der Autor besonders berufen.

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Twark: Erinnern Sie sich eher gern an die DDR? Was halten Sie vom Begriff Ostalgie, und was verstehen Sie darunter? Schirmer: Na ja, was heißt gern erinnern? Es ist ein Stück Leben gewesen. Ich war vierzig Jahre damit befaßt, habe in dieser Gesellschaft gelebt, und ich bin nicht bereit, irgend etwas zu verdrängen. Allerdings teile ich nicht die Nostalgie mancher, die heutzutage unter dem neuen System frustriert sind und aus diesem Grunde die Vergangenheit beschönigen. Ich möchte sie schon ganz differenziert betrachtet wissen. Daß die Sicht auf die DDR so kompliziert geworden ist, hängt ein bißchen damit zusammen, daß sie von den neuen Mächten sehr instrumentalisiert worden ist. Es hätte, glaube ich, nicht so eine starke Ostalgie gegeben, wenn der Osten seine Vergangenheit unbeeinflußt vom Westen hätte aufarbeiten können und verschont geblieben wäre von allen möglichen Simplifizierungen und auch politischen Interessen, die damit nichts zu tun haben. Twark: Ist es für Sie wichtig, Ihre Erinnerungen an die DDR und Ihre persönlichen Erfahrungen vor und nach der Wende niederzuschreiben? Haben Sie jemals direkt über sich selbst etwas geschrieben, etwas Autobiographisches? Schirmer: Meine Arbeiten sind alle auf irgendeiner Art autobiographisch. Aber sie sind natürlich keine Autobiographie schlechthin. Es ging mir immer auch um die gesellschaftliche Bedingtheit. Aussagen, die ich mache, sind gleichzeitig immer Aussagen über die Befindlichkeit in dieser speziellen Gesellschaft. Twark: Ist es für Sie wichtig, Ihre Erinnerungen aufzuarbeiten, niederzuschreiben? Schirmer: Aber natürlich. Man muß schon damit fertig werden, man arbeitet natürlich aus dem Fundus heraus, den man hat, und ich glaube, es ist auch notwendig, Mitteilungen über dieses System und das Leben in diesem System für andere zu machen, die es nicht kennen, oder vielleicht auch für später, für unsere Kinder. Twark: Was hat Sie in der DDR zum Schreiben bewegt? Und hat sich Ihre Schreibmotivation seit 1989 geändert, zum Beispiel in der Zielsetzung, oder da der Druck weg ist. Denken Sie jetzt an ein anderes Publikum? Schirmer: Na ja, es ist vielleicht schwierig, rückwirkend herauszufinden, warum man geschrieben hat. Es hängt mit einer gewissen Neigung und Begabung zusammen, daß man etwas mitteilen möchte auf einem Gebiet, wo man es kann. Ich meine, ich hätte eben nicht malen können, ich hätte auch nicht komponieren können. Meine Ausdrucksmöglichkeit war und

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ist das Wort. In der DDR sind der Literatur viele Aufgaben aufgebürdet worden, was eigentlich mit der Schwäche der Publizistik und der Verlogenheit der Medien zusammenhing. In der Literatur gab es mehr Freiräume und mehr Verständigungsmöglichkeiten. Und es gab zwar eine Zensur, aber es gab auch die Möglichkeit, die Zensur mehr oder weniger zu unterlaufen. Das war Chance, die Bedeutung der Literatur in der DDR, die zwar ein bißchen überschätzt worden ist, aber die eigentlich gar nicht so schlecht war, als Verständigungsmittel. Es war alles weniger beliebig als heutzutage. Jetzt sind die Schreibmotivationen oder die Schreibzwänge natürlich andere. Man muß schon vielleicht mehr aufs Literarische direkt zurückkommen und kann nicht mehr Publizistikersatz liefern. Das war übrigens das Problem bei Schlehweins Giraffe. Natürlich habe ich die Wende sehr intensiv erlebt. Aber einfach nur zu schreiben, was ich erlebt habe, das stand bereits in den unmittelbar nach der Wende doch recht freien, publizistischen Medien. Da brauchte ich nicht die Literatur noch dazu. Man mußte dann doch versuchen, etwas Besonderes zu finden, um die Leser zu verleiten, neu hinzusehen, und ich habe das einfach durch diesen Einfall bei Schlehweins Giraffe versucht, mit diesem etwas fabelhaften Tier eine Verfremdung zu schaffen und mich literarischer Mittel wie der Groteske und des Märchenhaften zu bedienen, um meine Erkenntnis oder Wahrheit an den Mann zu bringen. Twark: Das hängt mit der nächsten Frage zusammen. Schreiben Sie jetzt anders als vor der Wende? Hat Ihr Schreibstil sich geändert? Schirmer: Ich glaube eigentlich nicht. Der Schreibstil verändert sich so einfach und so schnell nicht. Ich meine, ich muß nicht mehr mit verstellter Stimme sprechen. Mit verstellter Stimme zu sprechen war aber mitunter ganz reizvoll, war natürlich eine Herausforderung. Jetzt, wo man eigentlich alles sagen kann, ist es kein großes Verdienst mehr, und es rutscht ab in die Beliebigkeit. An die Stelle der Zensur in der DDR ist die Rolle des Marktes, eine vielleicht noch widerwärtigere Zensur, getreten. Twark: Haben Sie nach 1989 bewußt nach einer neuen Identität, etwa Autoridentität gesucht? Schirmer: Das ist eine schwierige Frage. Ich habe nicht bewußt danach gesucht. Die Identität hat man oder entwickelt man, aber ich glaube nicht, daß man sie sucht. Außerdem kann man sie auch nicht selbst bestimmen. Natürlich ist so viel auf einen eingestürmt, daß man schon sehr verunsichert gewesen ist, was Schreibstrategien betrifft, und man hatte sich doch sehr stark zu behaupten, auch rein materiell. Twark: Haben Sie bemerkt, daß Sie sich heute mit anderen Sachen identifizieren als früher, oder ob Ihre Identität sich in irgendeiner Weise doch geändert hat. Fühlen Sie sich zum Beispiel wie ein Bürger der BRD?

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Schirmer: So einfach nicht. Ich meine, die Prägungen sind sehr schwer abzulegen, mir ist es sehr schwer gefallen und fällt mir auch heute noch schwer. Wissen Sie, ich habe meine Leser in der DDR gehabt, und habe im Westen nicht sehr viele dazu gewonnen, muß ich schon sagen. Wenn ich Lesungen habe, in Ost und West, ist es zehn zu eins. Also zehn Lesungen habe ich im Osten, eine habe ich im Westen, und in letzter Zeit schon keine mehr. Denn das Verhältnis zwischen Ost und West hat sich, in der Ignoranz des Westens gegenüber dem Osten, so verändert, daß sie sich überhaupt nicht für das interessieren, was im Osten passiert. Sie brauchen sich zum Beispiel bloß die Zeitschrift Die Zeit anzusehen, die macht ein Projekt, einen Fortsetzungsroman, ein ganzes Jahr. Twark: Ja, ich kenne das. Schirmer: Das sind von 52 Autoren vielleicht fünf oder sechs aus der ExDDR dabei. Also, ich beklage das alles überhaupt nicht, aber ich sehe keinen Anlaß, mich zur Decke zu strecken oder mich anzubiedern. Twark: Also, zu Humor und Satire. Gibt es einen besonderen Grund, warum Sie eine ironische oder humoristische Schreibart bevorzugen? Schirmer: Ja, das ist einfach ein Naturell, glaube ich. Das ist nicht so sehr Kalkül. Das ist eine Veranlagung, die man mehr oder weniger kultivieren kann, aber für mich ist immer wichtig dabei, daß es nicht eine oberflächliche Kritik, ein oberflächlicher Humor ist, sondern daß es immer sehr grundiert ist, einen ernsthaften Hintergrund hat, einen tragischen sogar. Twark: Haben Sie zu DDR-Zeiten irgendeine offizielle Erklärung der Regierung oder der Abteilung Kultur zu Satire und/oder Humor gehört? Wurde darüber geredet? Ich erfahre von den SED-Akten im Bundesarchiv diese offizielle Sicht, und ich wollte wissen, ob Sie das als Autor in der DDR persönlich erfahren haben? Schirmer: Na ja, wissen Sie, diese Frage hat ein bißchen mit Schubladendenken zu tun. Natürlich hat sich die Kulturpolitik der DDR um bestimmte Dinge gekümmert und hat ja auch beeinflußt oder versucht zu beeinflussen, wo es auf der Hand lag, ich meine, bei Kabarett oder bei satirischen Zeitschriften. Aber das ist mehr oder weniger so eine Zuständigkeitsschublade gewesen. In der Literatur direkt hat es keine so große Rolle gespielt. Wenn ein Roman satirisch oder ironisch angelegt gewesen ist, dann war es halt so, aber es gab weder Ermunterungen noch Verbote oder Ablehnung. Twark: Hat diese Schreibart der Ironie und Satire Ihnen persönlich geholfen, die Zeit der schnellen Veränderungen und Umbrüche zu bewältigen?

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Schirmer: Ja, vielleicht. Ich habe manches nicht ganz so ernst genommen und konnte über manches schneller lachen, es grinsend durchschauen und wollte es dann auch in meine literarischen Texte bringen. Twark: Wenn Literaturtheoretiker wie Helmut Arntzen über Satire schreiben, meinen sie, daß hinter jeder Satire eine Art Gegenbild angedeutet wird, eine Utopie. Steckt eine bewußte Utopie hinter Ihren Schriften, besonders in Schlehweins Giraffe, oder auch im Cahlenberg? Cahlenberg hat für mich jede Utopie niedergeschlagen, aber steckt trotzdem eine bewußte Utopie dahinter? Schirmer: Auch wenn eine Utopie scheitert, hören Utopien und das Bedürfnis nach ihnen nicht auf. Twark: Meinen Sie, daß eine humoristische oder satirische Sichtweise Ihren Lesern diese Zeit erleichtert haben könnte, die Zeit nach der Wende? Schirmer: Das auf alle Fälle. Also das habe ich bei Lesungen gemerkt oder in Briefen, die mir geschrieben worden sind. Das ist doch für manche sehr heilsam gewesen. Sie sind einfach dadurch mit manchen Dingen leichter fertig geworden, in dem sie gemerkt haben, es geht nicht nur ihnen so. Und ihr Schicksal ist wert genug gewesen, literarisch behandelt zu werden. Das ist im Osten so gewesen. Im Westen war es eigentlich ein Stück Aufklärung, ein gewisses Aha-Erlebnis, würde ich sagen: so larmoyant und so verbiestert sind die im Osten also gar nicht. Die können ja sogar über sich selbst lachen. Das war sehr wichtig. Twark: Zurück zur DDR—wobei das auch heutzutage eine Rolle spielen kann: Welches Verhältnis hatten und haben Sie zu Schriftstellerorganisationen? Schirmer: Also kein sehr inniges, muß ich sagen. Der Schriftstellerverband war zumindest eine Begegnungsstätte, wo man Leute traf, die man gern treffen wollte, wo man aber auch Leute traf, die man nicht so gern treffen wollte. Aber es war immer ein bißchen eine Börse an Meinungen, an Stimmungen. Sehr engagiert war ich nicht, und habe es auch abgelehnt, in Leitungsgremien zu arbeiten. Nach der Wende habe ich mich mehr oder weniger zurückgezogen und habe im Schriftstellerverband, im VS keine große Chance für mich gesehen, zu kommunizieren. Ein bißchen anders im PEN. Da arbeite ich gern mit, weil es dort über nationale Nabelschau hinausgeht, weil es dort um verfolgte und verfemte Schriftsteller geht. Twark: Ja, das ist wichtig. Wie war eigentlich das Verhältnis zwischen dem Sozialistischen Realismus in der DDR und den eigenen Werken?

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Schirmer: Ach, wissen Sie, den Sozialistischen Realismus hat es, als ich anfing, eigentlich nicht mehr gegeben. Das ist eine unheimliche Fiktion. Ihn hat es zu Gorkis Zeiten und in der frühen DDR als Postulat gegeben. In der Praxis hat das später überhaupt keine Rolle gespielt oder war nur etwas, womit man bestimmte Anfragen beruhigen konnte. Oder doch, wenn man es so sagt: das ist alles Sozialistischer Realismus, weil es im Sozialismus spielt. Aber diese Postulate, die damals in der Sowjetunion aufgestellt worden sind, mit dem Positiven Helden und so, haben, glaube ich, zumindest in den letzten zehn, fünfzehn Jahren der DDR, als ich mich als Autor zu Wort gemeldet habe, eigentlich keine große Rolle mehr gespielt. Twark: Sie haben also nicht mehr darauf geachtet. Schirmer: Man hat es mehr oder weniger ignoriert, kritisch abgehandelt oder, wie gesagt, ironisch abgetan. Twark: Fühlten Sie sich denn als Schriftsteller in der DDR auf irgendeiner Art und Weise eingeschränkt? Hatten Sie Probleme, Ihre Werke veröffentlichen zu lassen? Schirmer: Na ja, das ist eine komplizierte Frage. Natürlich hätte man, wenn man es im nachhinein betrachtet, weitergehen können, aber so einfach lagen die Dinge nicht. Man wollte sich schon gedruckt sehen, und man wollte schon Bücher machen. Eine direkte, ganz harte Einschränkung habe ich persönlich weniger als andere erfahren, muß ich sagen. Zumindest nicht in der Prosa, auch wenn nicht alles von mir gedruckt worden ist. Anders beim Film und beim Fernsehen—mindestens zwei meiner Drehbücher sind nicht realisiert worden, da waren Verbote schon im Vorfeld. Ansonsten bin ich nicht weit genug gegangen, dafür schäme ich mich heute. Twark: Für die Selbstzensur, meinen Sie? Schirmer: Ja, die Selbstzensur. Man beschränkt sich selber und sagt, das kannst du sowieso nicht machen, das mußt du umschreiben, das mußt du per Sklavensprache an den Mann bringen. Aber ich war, ich sage es ganz offen, kein Widerstandskämpfer und unterscheide mich darin von ungefähr siebzehn Millionen DDR-Bürgern, die alle Widerstandskämpfer gewesen sein wollen, im nachhinein. Twark: Aber Sie waren doch kritisch. Ich habe oft gesehen, daß Sie sehr offen kritische Bemerkungen gemacht haben. Schirmer: Und es ist teilweise toleriert, teilweise nicht gemerkt worden, weil es vielleicht zu sanft war. Die Restriktionen waren in den letzten Jahren nicht mehr so stark, wenn man nicht bestimmte, grundsätzliche Dinge gesagt hat, wie "die DDR ist ein mieser, schlimmer,

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menschenfeindlicher Staat" oder "die Partei ist eine schlimme Organisation." Wenn man das nicht getan hat, konnte man im Detail sehr viele kritische Dinge sagen. Wäre die DDR zum Beispiel nicht zugrunde gegangen, ich glaube, der Cahlenberg wäre in der DDR nicht ohne weiteres erschienen. Twark: Das glaube ich auch. Cahlenberg ist sehr kritisch und nimmt alles aufs Korn, was aufs Korn zu nehmen war. Schirmer: Da bin ich mir ziemlich sicher. Dann hätte ich die Konsequenzen ziehen müssen und den Text eben im Westen veröffentlicht und dabei meinen Job und meine Existenz aufs Spiel gesetzt. Twark: Und warum haben Sie in diesem Moment ein kritischeres Werk, als die vorigen es waren, geschrieben? Schirmer: Die Verhältnisse waren einfach so, daß man gar nicht mehr anders konnte. Die letzten Jahren der DDR waren die pure Agonie. Twark: Das tritt natürlich sehr stark hervor. Das habe ich wirklich bemerkt: so ging es nicht weiter. Seit wann wohnen Sie im Prenzlauer Berg? Schirmer: Seit 25 Jahren. Seit ’74. Twark: Und wie war Ihr Verhältnis zur Prenzlauer-Berg-Szene? Schirmer: Nicht speziell. Es ist eine Generationsgeschichte. Ich bin einfach älter, und ich bin auch kein Lyriker. Die Prenzlauer-Berg-Szene, das waren im Wesentlichen Lyriker und Liedermacher, aber Filmmacher schon weniger, Prosadichter schon weniger. Twark: Wie bewerten Sie diese Szene für das literarische Klima in der DDR? Schirmer: Das war schon eine ganz wichtige Geschichte, aber eine andere. Twark: Da Sie so knapp und pointiert geantwortet haben, gehe ich jetzt zu den Fragen zu Ihren eigenen Werken über. In Ihrem 1976 erschienen Roman Doktorspiel haben Sie eine Szene dargestellt, in der der Protagonist Bringfried Schramm mit der wahrscheinlichen Homosexualität seines Kollegen Schmidthenner konfrontiert wird und ihm gegenüber eine tolerante Haltung zeigt. Was hat Sie dazu bewegt, die Homosexualität als Thema aufzugreifen? Schirmer: Ach, vielleicht, nur, daß Homosexualität in der DDR-Literatur fast überhaupt keine Rolle gespielt hat. Twark: Es war ein Tabuthema in der Öffentlichkeit der DDR.

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Schirmer: Es war ein Tabuthema. Nachdem ich das gemacht habe, ist aber kein Aufschrei durch die Gegend gegangen, daß da einer ein Tabu gebrochen hat. Im öffentlichen Bewußtsein war man dem Thema längst tolerant begegnet. Zumindest unter Intellektuellen. Twark: Haben die DDR-Leser oder die Verlagslektoren in irgendeiner Weise auf die Szene reagiert? Schirmer: Nein. Entweder haben sie sie nicht verstanden oder sie nicht als etwas Interessantes betrachtet. Twark: Sie verwenden in Ihren DDR- und Ihren Nachwendetexten oft Figuren, die unsicher sind, die nach etwas suchen, ein typisches Motiv in der Literatur. Sie suchen zum Beispiel einen passenden Beruf oder die glückliche Liebe. Ihre Figuren scheinen nicht besonders selbstbewußt, im Sinne von "self-confident" zu sein. Gibt es einen Grund, daß Sie so eine Vorliebe für diese Figuren besitzen? Schirmer: Ach, vielleicht mein eigenes mangelndes Selbstbewußtsein. Ich sagte ja zu Beginn, die Literatur hat immer etwas mit Autobiographie zu tun. Es sind gemischte Helden. Suchende sind mir immer menschlicher und interessanter als Leute, die gefunden haben, die aktiv sind oder die positive Helden sind. Der gemischte Held, der stets Gefahr läuft, unter die Räder zu kommen, schien mir als literarische Figur immer interessant. Twark: Wir hatten, bevor die Kassette lief, bereits darüber gesprochen, was Sie heute beruflich machen. Ich habe noch die Frage, wie finanzieren Sie sich jetzt? Ist es schwieriger für Sie, finanzielle Unterstützung für Ihr Schreiben zu bekommen? Schirmer: Ich war bis nach der Wende fest angestellt als Dramaturg. Die Umstellung in die Freiberuflichkeit fiel mir ein bißchen schwer. Früh habe ich den Unterschied zur DDR bemerkt, wo ich mühelos von meinen Büchern hätte leben können, was ich aber aus verschiedenen Gründen nicht gemacht habe, weil ich so eine feste Anstellung für mich als eine Chance betrachtet habe, einfach mit Leuten zusammen zu sein und in der Gemeinschaft mit Problemen konfrontiert zu sein, statt im Elfenbeinturm zu leben. Dann kam ich in den Elfenbeinturm und habe geschrieben wie ein Teufel. Ich hatte auch relatives Glück mit Schlehweins Giraffe, aber als Autor nur von Prosa zu leben oder, noch schlimmer, von Lyrik ist ein schwieriges Unterfangen. Man kann es natürlich, aber da muß man seine Lebensverhältnisse sehr klein einpegeln, und dazu hatte ich nicht unbedingt die Lust. So habe ich mich "verdingt" als Medienschreiber. Dabei bin ich zumindest mit meinen handwerklichen Fähigkeiten, denke ich, so unglücklich nicht gewesen. Das Problem ist, ich habe immer gedacht, du machst das, schreibst Fernsehserien und finanzierst dir deinen nächsten Roman damit. Nur wird man von der Medienarbeit sehr in

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Anspruch genommen. Die Phantasie ist etwas Begrenztes, man kommt dann nicht mehr dazu, umzuschalten und am Abend noch Prosa zu machen. Aber ich verfolge es weiter und jede Pause, die ich zwischen Fernseharbeiten habe, benutze ich für meine Erzählungen. Twark: Sie schrieben an der Fernsehserie Der Landarzt für das ZDF. Sie hatten vorhin auch gesagt, Sie seien prädestiniert, weil Sie humoristisch schreiben. Schirmer: Es kommen viele Faktoren zusammen. Das ist einfach eine Teamarbeit. Es sind Leute, mit denen ich auch früher zusammengearbeitet habe, und die meine spezielle Art zu schreiben kannten. Der Erfolg dieser Serie hat ihnen recht gegeben. Aber ich habe ja nicht nur diese triviale Strecke bedient, ich habe auch Filme gemacht. Twark: Welche Filme? Schirmer: Tandem. Eine Komödie. Twark: Wann war das? Schirmer: Die ist noch zu DDR-Zeiten als Drehbuch entstanden, dann kam die Wende, und wir haben sie verlagert in die Wendezeit. Es ist eine Geschichte geworden, die sowohl in der DDR wie nach der Wende spielt. Und dann habe ich noch eine Komödie geschrieben, Viel Spaß mit meiner Frau, nach einem Theaterstück von mir, Weinverkostung. Twark: In welchem Jahr haben Sie das geschrieben? Schirmer: Das war 1997. Twark: Vor zwei Jahren dann. Schirmer: Ich habe sie 1996 geschrieben, dann ist sie 1997 gedreht worden. Twark: Das waren Fernsehfilme? Schirmer: Richtige Fernsehfilmkomödien, in meiner Art, die Dinge zu sehen. Sozial konkret und ziemlich komisch. Twark: Sie haben mir im letzten Oktober bei der Geburtstagsfeier von Walfried Hartinger [einem ehemaligen Professor der Universität Leipzig] erzählt, daß Sie an einem neuen Roman arbeiten. Schreiben Sie noch an diesem Text, und wie geht das Schreiben voran? Schirmer: Ich schreibe noch an dem Text, und es läuft sehr schwer. Ich hatte zumindest im letzten halben Jahr, so bis Anfang dieses Jahres ein bißchen Ruhe mit Fernseharbeiten und habe versucht, wieder Prosa zu schreiben. Es hat mir unheimlichen Spaß gemacht, aber ich habe gemerkt, daß ich auch große Probleme damit habe, da sich die Sache unheimlich vergrößert hat und über das, was ich mir konzeptionell mal vorgenommen

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hatte, hinausgeht. Es wird ein wirklich großer Roman von vielleicht vierhundert Seiten. Twark: Also für Sie wirklich lang, wie ich Ihre anderen Sachen kenne. In Ihrer Erzählung Nach Jahr und Tag hat Winfried Trilonka sich über die Stellung seiner Generation in der DDR beschwert, weil diese Generation nichts Neues in die Politik oder Gesellschaft einbringen durfte. In Ihrem Interview mit Margot Gerisch Mitte der 80er Jahre haben Sie sich ebenfalls über die Rolle geäußert, die Ihrer Generation von Autoren in der DDR zugeteilt wurde. Sie sagten: "Wir werden nicht so ganz ernst genommen, und immer wieder gern belehrt." Was halten Sie von der heutigen Generation, nicht nur von Autoren, sondern von den jungen Alltagsmenschen? Was für Schwierigkeiten oder Vorteile sehen Sie für diese Generation, zu der ich ja selbst gehöre? Schirmer: Ja, das ist eine ganz schwierige Frage. Ich merke, es gibt einen großen Bruch, einen großen Generationsbruch, und ich hoffe nur, daß diese Generation konsequent ihre Ansprüche durchsetzt, daß sie viel radikaler mit ihrer Gesellschaft umgeht, besonders, was Umwelt betrifft. Und all das, was wir nun wissend oder halbwissend versäumt haben, soll diese Generation nicht versäumen. Twark: In Ihren Texten kommt häufig der Schnee als Wetterlage und Kulisse vor. Hat er für Sie eine besondere Bedeutung? Schirmer: Das hängt vielleicht ein bißchen damit zusammen, daß ich aus einer Gegend komme, wo es zumindest in meiner Kindheit und Jugend viel Schnee gegeben hat. Es war ein sehr romantisches Element, das die Leute sehr verinnerlicht haben. Vielleicht ist es auch ein bißchen Nostalgie, seit ich in Großstädten lebe. Twark: Schreiben Sie eigentlich Gedichte? Schirmer: Ich habe in der Pubertät natürlich wie alle Pubertierenden Gedichte geschrieben, aber sie zum Glück nie veröffentlicht. Ich habe es immer versucht, aber Lyrik ist mein Medium nicht gewesen. Twark: Dabei verlangen Hörspiele usw. eigentlich auch eine sehr geraffte Sprache. Schirmer: Ich bin ein großer Liebhaber von Lyrik. Gerade in der DDRLyrik ist so viel erreicht worden an Bewußtmachen von Verhältnissen, von Befindlichkeiten über das Individuum, daß ich immer ein bißchen traurig war, daß ich da nichts beisteuern konnte. Twark: Haben Sie nach der Wende entstandene Texte, von anderen deutschen oder auch internationalen Autoren der Gegenwart gelesen, die Sie gut finden? Welche Werke der Gegenwart halten Sie für gute Literatur?

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Schirmer: Was halte ich für gute Literatur. Mit großem Interesse lese ich immer wieder Walser, obwohl ich seine politischen Ansichten nicht teile. Ich lese alles von Christa Wolf und von Grass natürlich. Ich lese alles von Volker Braun, und überhaupt nehme ich zur Kenntnis, was erscheint, wenn ich auch nicht alles lesen kann. Twark: Haben Sie Helden wie wir von Thomas Brussig gelesen? Schirmer: Ja. Twark: Und was halten Sie davon? Schirmer: Ich halte es für ein wichtiges Buch, aber ich bin mir auch sehr bewußt, daß uns Welten trennen. Das ist aber wirklich eine Generationenfrage. Brussig gehört zu einer Generation, die mit der DDR eigentlich nichts zu tun hat und glaubt, sich auch die Ungerechtigkeiten leisten zu können. Aber ich halte es für originell und für einen wichtigen Beitrag, ohne daß ich sagen könnte, es ist mein Lieblingsbuch. Twark: Vielen Dank für das Gespräch.

Appendix 2 Interview with Matthias Biskupek Burg Ranis, Thuringia, 26 June 1999 Matthias Biskupek ist ein in Ostdeutschland bekannter Satirist, Feuilletonist und Kabaretttexter. Geboren 1950 in Chemnitz, aufgewachsen in Mittweida (Sachsen), studierte er Kybernetik an der Technischen Hochschule in Magdeburg. Von 1973 bis 1976 arbeitete er als Systemanalytiker bei einem Chemiefaserkombinat in Schwarza. Von 1976 bis 1979 war er Regieassistent am Theater in Rudolstadt, und von 1979 bis 1983 Dramaturg und Texter des Kabaretts "Fettnäppchen" in Gera. Seit 1984 ist er freischaffender Schriftsteller und wohnt in Rudolstadt und Berlin. Biskupek hat umfänglich bei der Presse in der DDR und, nach der Wende, in den Neuen Ländern gearbeitet. Von 1979 bis 1993 war er Mitarbeiter der Weltbühne; seit 1982 schreibt er für die satirische Zeitschrift Eulenspiegel und für Neue Deutsche Literatur. Zu seinen Buchveröffentlichungen gehören Meldestelle für Bedenken (1981), Leben mit Jacke (1985), Der Bauchnabel (1986), Veröffentlichtes Ärgernis (1987), Streitfall Satire (zusammen mit Mathias Wedel, 1988), Die Abenteuer der Andern (1990), Wir Beuteldeutschen (1991), Das Fremdgehverkehrsamt (1992), Der Quotensachse (1996), Schloss Zockendorf (1998) und Die geborene Heimat (1999). Jill Twark: Matthias, in Deinem Roman Der Quotensachse hast Du ähnlich wie Thomas Brussig in Helden wie wir den Lebenslauf eines DDR-Bürgers freizügig satirisch erzählt. In Deinem Fall hast Du aber auf eine Stasi Tätigkeit des Protagonisten Mario Claudius Zwintzscher vor der Wende verzichtet, um ihn, ein patriotischer Sachse, als Mitbegründer einer Stasiähnlichen Organisation, des Ausschusses zur Bekämpfung Unsolidarischen Verhaltens, nach der Wende darzustellen. Mir fiel bei Deinem Roman auf, daß, obwohl Du Dich über den sächsischen Lokalpatriotismus und den Dialekt lustig machst, Du diese Eigenschaften nicht völlig abgelehnst oder satirisch vernichtest. Wie bist Du überhaupt auf diese Idee gekommen, so ein Buch zu schreiben? Matthias Biskupek: Die Idee ist ungefähr im Jahre 1990 entstanden. Ich habe das Ding `95 geschrieben. Ich war bei Kollegen, Freunden in Köln,

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und da erzählte mir einer, als ich vom Opportunismus meines Volksstammes erzählte, von Sachsen und von DDR-Bürgern, es wäre doch eigentlich wunderbar, mal eine Geschichte zu erzählen über einen Menschen, der die gegebene Gesellschaftsordnung zwar ablehnt, aber immer höher in ihr kommt, egal in welcher er ist, ob in der sozialistischen oder in der jetzigen. Und im Prinzip meinte er die 68er. Die 68er, die ja vehement eigentlich die Bundesrepublik bekämpft haben und dann im Marsch durch die Institutionen, wie sie das nannten, doch irgendwo ankamen. [Jürgen] Trittin und solche Leute sind ja Beispiele dafür, auch [Joschka] Fischer. Eigentlich sagte der, das ist doch eine schöne Figur. Und da habe ich einfach darüber nachgedacht. Das ist kein Schriftsteller, das ist ein Soziologe gewesen, und da dachte ich, das ist eigentlich eine schöne Geschichte für mich, so eine Sache zu erzählen. Und daß ich das Ganze über den sächsischen Nationalstolz transportiere, oder den sächsischen Patriotismus, Opportunismus hat sicher was damit zu tun, daß ich die Sachsen erforscht habe, daß ich selber einer bin, und daß es mir schon immer gefällt, wenn ein Mensch ambivalent ist. Und insofern lehne ich das ja auch, wie Du gesehen hast, nicht völlig ab. Ich denke schon, daß dieser Mario Claudius Zwintzscher so eine ambivalente Persönlichkeit ist, und er ist von mir nicht in Grund und Boden verdammt. Er ist auch vielleicht ein bißchen liebenswert. Aber, wie gesagt, diese Idee stammt aus dem Gespräch mit einem Kölner Freund. Twark: Ironisch, also aus dem Westen. Biskupek: Ja, wenn man so will. Twark: Hast Du nach 1989 irgendwie bewußt nach einer neuen Identität, einer Autor-Identität gesucht? Biskupek: Nein. Twark: Das Schreiben von Der Quotensachse hat Dir also nicht geholfen, die Wende zu bewältigen? Biskupek: Nein, das einzige ist natürlich, daß als Du als Autor immer versuchst, eine Erzählperspektive zu finden. Die Ich-Erzählung ist einerseits leicht, andererseits schwer, und ich habe ja vorher viele IchErzählungen geschrieben, in denen auch der Held sich selbst ironisch demaskiert. Es gab eine Geschichte, die ich 1986 geschrieben habe. Sie heißt "Meine Ausreise," und ist eine Geschichte, in der sich einer selbst genehmigen muß, ob er ausreisen darf oder nicht. Der Text steht in Die Abenteuer der Anderen, wo ein Mensch, ein braver Bürger dieses Staates, seinen eigenen Antrag auf Ausreise auf den Tisch kriegt und sich ablehnt, was eine satirische Idee ist, sicher, und so war das ja auch. Sowas mußte genehmigt werden von bestimmten Stellen. Und durch eine bestimmte Verkettung von Zuständen kriegt er seinen eigenen Antrag. Da er aber

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genau wußte, wie er über dieses Land dachte und was er machen würde, wenn die Ausreise genehmigt wird, hat er sich abgelehnt. Er schaut sich sozusagen in die eigenen Gedanken. Eine solche literarische Figur ist immer interessant und war für mich als Erzähler eine Herausforderung. Insofern mag mich ja ehren, daß ich mit Brussig verglichen werde, aber erstens habe ich die Geschichte geschrieben, ohne daß ich Brussigs Geschichte kannte, und zweitens ist es zur gleichen Zeit erschienen. Twark: Ich behandele sie zusammen im gleichen Kapitel meiner Doktorarbeit, weil es zwischen ihnen Verbindungen gibt. Biskupek: Es ist merkwürdig, daß viele Leute das so sehen, und mich sogar als sächsischer Brussig angesehen haben. Ich bilde mir ein, meine Geschichte hat eine ganz andere Dimension. Dieser Einfall von Brussig ist sehr schön, für meine Begriffe aber viel zu lang und ausgequält. Der Mann ist ein anderer, auch wenn er natürlich diese Figur des Opportunisten ... Twark: Ein DDR-Lebenslauf, halt. Biskupek: Bei mir ist dieser DDR-Lebenslauf nun ein exemplarischer. Der Held wird genau an dem Tag geboren, als die DDR gegründet wird. Der hat seine ersten Probleme am 17. Juni 1953 oder `56, stets dann, wann die DDR neuralgische Punkte durchmacht, macht dieser das auch. Es ist also, wenn man so will, ein auf die politische Situation gelegter Lebenslauf. Twark: Eine Verkörperung. Biskupek: Genau, es ist ungefähr so etwas, wenn Du so willst. Davon bin ich bestimmt nicht der Erfinder, aber ich habe diese Methode eben benutzt. Twark: Du hast Maschinenbau gelernt, Kybernetik studiert, und als Ingenieur und Systemanalytiker in einem Chemiefaserkombinat gearbeitet. Wie bist Du dazu gekommen, Regieassistent und Dramaturg am Theater in Rudolstadt, später Dramaturg beim „Fettnäppchen“ und anderen Kabaretts, im Grunde genommen, "full-time" Satiriker zu werden? Biskupek: Es war etwas Merkwürdiges, daß in diesem Lande DDR relativ viele Mathematiker, Physiker, und Naturwissenschaftler, Ingenieure für Kabaretts schrieben. Es ist erstaunlich, wenn man einmal betrachtet, was diese so gemacht haben. Die waren nicht, wie im Westen, oft studierte Philologen, Germanisten, Lehrer oder sowas, sondern es waren viele Naturwissenschaftler, Mathematiker. Es mag damit zu tun haben, daß ein Mathematiker ein System analysiert und die Schwachstellen herausfindet. Und in der DDR war noch das Besondere, daß man als Ingenieur in Betrieben Zeit hatte. So einfach ist das. Ich bin in diesem Betrieb, im Chemiefaserkombinat damals eingestellt worden als Ingenieur, und die

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Leute haben gesagt, es ist viel schöner, wenn Du Schichtarbeiter machst. Du bekamst mehr Geld, und so habe ich das gemacht. Später habe ich dann oft an meinem Schreibtisch gesessen, und hatte eigentlich nichts zu tun. Da blieb mir gar nichts anderes übrig, als über den Betrieb nachzudenken, weshalb er so beschissen läuft, und Satiriker zu werden. Aber es gibt noch einen zweiten Grund. Ich habe mich natürlich vorher mit Literatur und ähnlichem beschäftigt. Ab achtzehn, neunzehn habe ich beispielsweise die Abiturzeitung getextet und so was. Also ich habe schon immer geschrieben. Aber letztlich, wenn mich mein Beruf als Mathematiker oder Kybernetiker mehr gefressen hätte, mehr beansprucht hätte, wäre ich möglicherweise nicht so heftig zur Literatur gekommen. Ich habe immer gelesen und das wäre immer mein Hobby geblieben, aber da ich eben nicht gebraucht wurde in diesem Land, und doch mein Geld bekam . . . Twark: Du bist also wirklich wegen des Landes und des Systems Autor geworden. Biskupek: Das System hat mich schon darin bestärkt, dieser riesige Anspruch, über alles und jedes befinden zu wollen und den Menschen in seiner Ganzheit . . . wir haben ja immer große Menschheitsziele im Auge gehabt! Das war doch nicht wie heute, daß man nur so kurz ein bißchen die Welt ändern will. Also das war eigentlich der Grund. Twark: Kannst Du mir, als Amerikaner, beschreiben, wie es für dich war, in der DDR am Kabarett zu arbeiten? Biskupek: Wir sind natürlich Hofnarren gewesen. Das ist klar. Wir waren Hofnarren, und ich habe es eigentlich erst nach `89 so deutlich bemerkt, daß wir letztlich doch zur Festigung des Systems beigetragen haben. Es hat etwas damit zu tun, das wir das Ventil waren, was ein bißchen Luft abgelassen hat. Und so gesehen, funktionieren ja in diesem System die Satiriker auch als Hofnarren. Denn sie machen das Leben lebenswerter, leichter, und man kann es besser ertragen. Es hat natürlich auch damit zu tun, daß ich Satire mochte, Humor, daß ich gern gelacht habe und es ganz gern hatte, wenn Leute über mich lachten oder über das, was ich gemacht habe. Das ist, glaube ich, stets ein Urantrieb des Clowns, des Gauklers. Und der ist nun wirklich unabhängig von jedem System. Aber in der DDR war das Spezielle, daß das schon subversiv war. Es war schon subversiv, das System lachend in Frage zu stellen. Aber das machte natürlich Spaß, und ich habe sicher auch, sagen wir mal, diese Anlage in mir. Deswegen bin ich dann halt beim Kabarett gelandet. Ich glaube auch, ich habe nur manchmal pointiert geschrieben, und wenn man pointiert schreibt, glauben die Leute, das sei Satire. Es ist oft gar keine Satire. Es waren einfach Sätze, die auf den Punkt gebracht waren, gelegentlich. Und das ist

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offenbar nicht üblich in der deutschen Literatur. Inzwischen ist es üblicher, aber vor 25 Jahren war es eben noch gar nicht üblich. Da war man dann gleich ein Satiriker. Da kann ich auch nichts dafür. Twark: Glück oder Pech gehabt, wie man es so sieht. Biskupek: Na gut, in der Geschichte, die bei Richard Zipser in dem Buch Zensur steht, müßtest Du mal nachsehen. Da steht zum Beispiel, wieso ich damals vom Kabarett weggegangen bin. Ich hatte ein Programm gemacht, "Wir clown uns nichts," und ich habe darin eigentlich alles beschrieben, wie es war. Jemand hat darauf aufmerksam gemacht, dass das Programm gegen Sozialismus und gegen die Sowjetunion ist. Sie haben das einfach abgesetzt und mir blieb nichts anderes übrig, als vom Kabarett wegzugehen. Es war ein richtiger, harter Zensurfall. Twark: In welchem Jahr? Biskupek: Das war `84. Twark: Und dann? Biskupek: Danach war ich ausschließlich freischaffender Autor. Ich war es ja vorher schon teilweise. Ich hatte diese Literaturkolumne im Eulenspiegel seit `82 gemacht, und seit `79 für die Weltbühne geschrieben. Twark: Die Weltbühne Artikel habe ich gesammelt. Ich habe sie auf dem Flohmarkt bekommen. Du hast es schon angedeutet, aber gibt es vielleicht einen besonderen Grund dafür, warum Du eine satirische und manchmal groteske Schreibart bevorzugst? Du hast auch einige Eigenheiten. Wenn Du schreibst, dann geht's manchmal ins Kafkaeske. Biskupek: Du, warum das so ist? Ich meine, ich versuche schon eine Geschichte genau zu beschreiben. Aber ich merke beim Schreiben, dass das etwas mit Reizvergrößerung zu tun hat. Du mußt noch einen draufsetzen, und noch einen, ich schreibe ja auch für mich und so, daß es mir gefällt. Ich schreibe ja nicht unbedingt immer mit Blick auf den Zuschauer. Auch wenn Du beim Kabarett natürlich ganz deutlich den Zuschauer im Kopf haben mußt. Twark: Und nach der Wende, auch da nicht? Biskupek: Doch, aber ich schreibe schon auch für mich. Es muß mir gefallen. Und mir gefallen eben Texte, die sich irgendwo in eine Absurdität hineinsteigen oder die, sagen wir mal, auch einen Zirkelschluß haben, wo die Absurdität des Anfangs zum Schluß aufgehoben wird. Im Prinzip ist Der Quotensachse auch so aufgebaut, eigentlich, wenn ich es bedenke, alle Bücher, auch das Schloß Zockendorf, da wird der Anfang zum Schluß wieder aufgenommen. Es ist alles eigentlich wie zu Anfang wieder. Und das bedeutet ja wahrscheinlich was. Vielleicht ist es die Sehnsucht des Menschen danach, daß wir weiter leben, daß wir, wenn wir unser Leben

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durchlaufen haben, erneut anfangen können, und wenn auch auf eine andere Art. Deswegen kommt das wahrscheinlich bei mir vor. Twark: Das Spielen, wie in Streitfall Satire besprochen wurde, mit verschiedenen Leben und Verhaltensweisen. Biskupek: Ja, genau. Aber warum das eben so ist? Genau weiß ich es auch nicht. Twark: Lust an der Freude. Biskupek: Ja. Twark: Du hast in Deinen DDR-Texten ein sehr breites Spektrum an menschlichen Verhaltensweisen und Institutionen durch Satire angegriffen und entblößt. Gab es für dich in der DDR Dinge oder Themen, die Du selbst nicht angegriffen hättest? Biskupek: Ja, die gab es sicher, aber gar nicht so bewußt. Beispielsweise habe ich natürlich die Mauer nie bewußt in Frage gestellt, in meinen Texten, wenn ich mir das überlege. Ich habe zwar die Ausreisepraxis im Westen, aber den Schießbefehl direkt an der Mauer nicht hinterfragt. Das hat etwas damit zu tun, dass es nicht darauf ankam, den Schießbefehl abzuschaffen, sondern die Mauer abzuschaffen beziehungsweise sie durchlässig für alle zu machen. Das normale Menschenrecht habe ich schon thematisiert, dass, wenn jemand vom Prenzlauer Berg nach Kreuzberg will, das normal ist. Das ist der normalste Wunsch der Welt, und war für mich das Thema. Daß dort an der Grenze geschossen wurde, war halt eine üble Sache, aber die konnte ich auch satirisch nicht verarbeiten. Dann gab es andere Sachen, ich überlege, die ich kaum thematisiert habe. Ich habe zum Beispiel mal in einem Text Homosexualität behandelt, einfach weil es mich interessierte, so wie alle Autoren irgend etwas, was sie selbst eben nicht erleben können, literarisch verarbeiten, zum Beispiel versuchen, sich in eine Frau hineinzuversetzen. Und da bemerkte ich nur die Reaktion einer Gutachterin, die das Manuskript ablehnte. Twark: In welchem Text war das? Biskupek: Das war in einem Text im ersten Band, Meldestelle für Bedenken. Er heißt, oh Gott, wie heißt die Geschichte? So ähnlich wie . . . ich könnte mal herausfinden. Twark: Wurde er gedruckt? Biskupek: Ja, es wurde gedruckt, und die Gutachterin, die das Manuskript in Bausch und Bogen ablehnte, sagte dann zum Schluß: "Und schwul ist er auch noch." Weil dieser Text da drin war, und sie auf den Autor schloß, das gab mir einfach zu denken, in einem Land, wo selbst so etwas, was bei uns auch schon anerkannt war, es war ja nichts Verteufeltes, es war nicht

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mehr strafbar damals. Aber das selbst so etwas als Negativum herangezogen wurde, das gab mir schon zu denken. Aber es war eigentlich nicht mein Thema, muß ich sagen. Schwul sein oder lesbisch sein ist nicht unbedingt mein Thema. Twark: Letzte Woche habe ich mit Bernd Schirmer gesprochen. Er hat an einer Stelle in einem Roman von 1976, Doktorspiel nannte es sich, die Homosexualität behandelt. Aber er hat mir gesagt, als ich ihn danach gefragt habe, dass er keine Reaktion bekommen hat, weder von Gutachtern noch vom Publikum. Biskupek: Die Geschichte ist 1981 erschienen, und das Gutachten, um das es sich handelt, war von 1977. Es hat also vier Jahre gedauert. Twark: Das ist ironisch. Sie haben Deinen Text kritisiert, und seinen Text ignoriert. Biskupek: Das war nur die Darstellung zweier Männer, von denen einer beschrieb, daß er den anderen liebt und sich nicht traut, ihn anzufassen, daß er also seine schwulen Neigungen in sich versteckt. Das war eine ganze Reihe Liebesgeschichten, satirische und ironische, die aneinander gereiht waren, und das war eine davon. Die Gutachterin hat das nicht in ihrem Gutachten geschrieben, sondern mündlich hinzugesetzt. Das Gutachten war ein vernichtendes Urteil aller Geschichten, und mündlich hat sie noch hinzugefügt: "Außerdem ist er schwul! Und solche Geschichten würde ich sowieso nicht veröffentlichen." Twark: Wie hast Du das erfahren? Biskupek: In der DDR erfuhren wir alles über die Lektorin, die mir das natürlich steckte. Sie hat mir auch das Gutachten gezeigt, obwohl sie es eigentlich nicht hätte zeigen dürfen. Twark: Aber das Buch wurde gedruckt. Biskupek: Das Buch wurde erst vier Jahre später gedruckt. Ich habe weiter an den Texten gearbeitet, aber sie blieben zum größten Teil unverändert, und ein anderer Gutachter hat dann ein positives Gutachten geschrieben. Es war übrigens Joachim Schreck. Er ist ein ziemlich bekannter Herausgeber. Twark: Gab es Geschichten von Dir, die überhaupt nicht gedruckt wurden? Biskupek: Ja, sicher, sehr viele Geschichten. Es gibt ein Buch, Vision und Wirklichkeit von Udo Scheer, der über die ganzen Stasiverwicklungen geschrieben hat. Ich erfuhr, daß er mich da als bösen Stasimenschen hineingeschrieben hatte. Da hat aber Lutz Rathenow gesagt, daß es nicht ganz so war, und ich selbst eine Stasi Akte habe. Ihm fiel es auf, und er sagte: "Ich hatte doch von Dir einen Text gehabt, der bei mir bei Stasi

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Untersuchungen als strafverschärfend hinzukam." Und der war gar nicht von Rathenow, der war von mir! Der hieß "PA," was auf Deutsch die Abkürzung für "Personalausweis" ist, und behandelte das Schicksal einer Frau, die bei ihrem Mann im Westen geblieben war und der der Personalausweis weggenommen wurde. Wo sie jetzt auch hinkam, mußte sie ihren vorläufigen Ausweis zeigen, und das kam ja oft vor. Damit war sie gebrandmarkt, entweder als republikflüchtig oder potentielle Ausreiserin. Ich habe nur ganz nüchtern aufgeschrieben, wie beschissen es dieser Frau geht, daß sie nachts aus der Kneipe kommt, singend, und die Polizisten sich den Ausweis zeigen lassen. Sie wird da behalten, weil sie diesen vorläufigen Ausweis hat. Diese Geschichte, anderthalb oder zwei Seiten, muß von '75 oder '76 stammen. Die wurde nie gedruckt. Ich hätte sie längst vergessen, wenn ich sie nicht in den Stasi-Akten wiedergefunden hätte. Es muß eine Menge Geschichten geben. Twark: Du hast also Deine Stasi-Akten gelesen. Hast Du andere interessante Sachen entdeckt? Biskupek: Ich selbst wurde bei der Stasi als IM geführt. Darüber habe ich einen Text geschrieben. Er ist in meinem neuen Buch, das jetzt erscheint. Es heißt Wie haben wir Dichter gesungen, mit diesem Doppelsinn. Da schreibe ich eindeutig, wie es kam, daß sie mich als IM geführt haben, mich als unzuverlässig bezeichnet haben, und deswegen nicht gebrauchen konnten. Aber sie haben mit mir gesprochen. Twark: Sie wollten Dich anheuern. Biskupek: Und weil das nicht klappte, haben sie erst "Operatives Ausgangsmaterial" gesammelt und dann eine "Operative Personenkontrolle" (OPK) durchgeführt, die bis in den Herbst 1989 lief. Twark: Und Deine Frau konnte ihre Arbeit als Lehrerin in der Schule nicht fortsetzen, weil sie mit Dir verheiratet war? Biskupek: Unter anderem deshalb. In diesen Akten habe ich auch Texte von mir gefunden. Da erzählt zum Beispiel eine IM von einem Text, den ich einmal in einer Veranstaltung mit anderen Autoren gelesen habe und längst vergessen hatte. Auf einmal habe ich erkannt, ach, den hast Du auch irgendwann mal geschrieben. Die haben sie mir alle aufgehoben. Ich bin jetzt zu faul um nachzugucken, aber wenn ich mal meine Memoiren schreibe, in 50 bis 100 Jahren, dann kann ich da mal nachgucken. Ich habe in meinen Stasi-Akten natürlich etwas über mein Leben gefunden, aber es ist sehr privat, und ich würde das nicht veröffentlichen. Nur für mich ist es gut, wenn ich mal darüber schreibe, daß ich sehe, so hat man also über mich gedacht, so haben sie mich eingeschätzt, diese IM-Berichte. Das ist interessant für jeden Autor.

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Twark: Aber Autobiographisches hast Du bisher nicht geschrieben? Biskupek: Es ist alles autobiographisch, oder eben nicht. Natürlich ist Der Quotensachse auch autobiographisch. Der hat sehr viel Autobiographisches. Da habe ich wörtlich aus manchen Einschätzungen der IM-Berichte zitiert, aber immer verfremdet. Ich heiße ja nicht Mario Claudius Zwintzscher. Ich bin nicht 1949 geboren. Und ich bin nicht in Leipzig geboren, sondern in Chemnitz. Twark: Aber es gibt schon Zusammenhänge. Biskupek: Natürlich gibt es die. Da wird von einer Oma aus dem Nixenweg in Leipzig erzählt, und da kommt meine Oma wirklich her. Also solche Dinge. Das habe ich aber spielerisch gemacht. Als Gag für Familie, Freunde, Verwandte. Twark: Sie erkennen das dann. Biskupek: Sie erkennen das dann. Twark: Als ich Deine satirischen Übertreibungen, Parodien und Kritiken gelesen habe, war mir fast immer ziemlich klar, was, wen oder welche Institutionen Du aufs Korn nehmen wolltest. Hast Du vielleicht trotzdem versucht, gewisse Kritiken zu verstecken? Das heißt, habe ich beim Lesen doch etwas verpaßt, obwohl ich geglaubt habe, die Texte zu verstehen? Biskupek: Bei den DDR-Texten schon. Da wurde einfach die bürokratische Sprache hopp genommen [persifliert], und mit der bürokratischen Sprache wurde die Institution kritisiert. Twark: Das kann ich aber auch erkennen. Biskupek: Ich weiß nicht. Ich habe zum Beispiel ein Buch aus dem Militärverlag kritisiert. Darin ist eine Liebesgeschichte, die mit den kitschigsten Worten geschrieben ist. Und da haue ich natürlich auf diesen Kitsch drauf, und meine eigentlich die Institution Militär. Das wußte jeder, weil es einfach aus dem Militärverlag war. Das erkennt nicht jeder. Wenn der wußte, wenn der ein Buch aus dem Militärverlag kritisiert, und so in Grund und Boden stampft, dann hat das natürlich auch mit der Abneigung gegen das Militär insgesamt zu tun. Twark: Wie heißt der Text? Biskupek: Er ist in einer von meinen Kritiken erschienen. Die nannten sich damals "Literatouristik" und mit ihnen erreichte ich in der DDR offenbar etwas wie Kultstatus, was ich jedoch nicht wußte. Die Leute richteten sich nach diesen Kritiken, sie erreichten komischerweise eine bestimmte Klientel. Heute ist das uninteressant. Ich kann im Eulenspiegel schreiben, was ich will, die Leute lesen es auch teilweise, und finden es OK. Aber es hat nicht mehr diese Wirkung. Das ist normal.

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Twark: Hast Du zum Beispiel Namen von gewissen Leuten irgendwie umgeschrieben? Biskupek: Natürlich, das haben wir immer gemacht. Im Kabarett haben wir sowas gemacht. Da hieß zum Beispiel eine Mädchenband "die Ziegenhühner," denn der Oberst, erster Sekretär hieß "Ziegenhahn," und wollte unbedingt, daß Gera eine Rockband mit Mädchen hat, und deswegen haben wir die im Kabarett als "Ziegenhühner" benannt. Da wußte jeder, was gemeint war. Manchmal kamen auch reale Vornamen vor. Keiner kannte den Namen des Chefredakteurs der damaligen SED Parteizeitung "Volkswacht." Lothar Olberig hieß er. Er steht zwar im Impressum, hat aber nie geschrieben. Der war nicht populär. Im Kabarett haben wir aber ganz oft diesen Namen "Lothar Olberig" benutzt. Zum Beispiel gibt es zwei Kinder, die sich streiten. Das eine Kind heißt Gottfried Schnipsel, das andere eben Lothar Olberig. Solche Dinge haben wir natürlich benutzt, um Spaß damit zu machen. Twark: Und da ist nichts passiert? Biskupek: Manchmal ja, manchmal nicht. Manchmal hat der Chef gesagt, "Den nehmen wir 'raus, den Lothar Olberig. Den haben wir schon im letzten Programm dreimal verbraten." Twark: Hast Du außer durch die schriftliche und im Kabarett dargestellte Satire Kritik an der DDR geübt? Biskupek: Ja, ich habe Briefe geschrieben, zum Beispiel. Aber die Kritik war mittelbar. Ich habe einen Brief an verschiedene Stellen, den Rat des Bezirkes, es nannte sich damals Bezirksleitung, mit Durchschlägen und an Freunde geschickt, und da stand darin, wie man die Arbeit des Zentrums junger Autoren verbessern konnte. Und da habe ich natürlich geschrieben, daß es langweilig ist. Wir werden nie eine lebendige Literaturdiskussion erreichen, wenn wir nicht Leute aus anderen Gegenden, Gebieten oder Ländern einladen. Ob das eine Kritik an der DDR ist oder nicht, das weiß ich nicht. Es waren Vorschläge, wie man es in der DDR etwas gescheiter machen kann. Ich habe schon offiziell natürlich auch kritisiert, in Versammlungen bin ich aufgestanden usw., aber das haben alle gemacht. Twark: Gibt es nach der Wiedervereinigung Deutschlands noch Tabuthemen für Dich, vielleicht andere oder neue, oder fühlst Du dich völlig frei, alles zu attackieren, wenn Du so willst? Biskupek: Ich will nicht alles attackieren. Aber ob es Tabuthemen gibt? Es gibt wohl Themen, die ich nicht bewältige. Twark: Welche, zum Beispiel? Biskupek: Das weiß ich jetzt nicht. Ich weiß nur, daß ich mir immer Themen aussuche, die ich bewältigen kann. Ich bin sicher ein

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pragmatischer Schreiber, und wenn jemand zu mir sagt, "Warum schreibst Du nicht darüber, nicht darüber?", dann kann ich nur sagen, ich weiß, daß ich es nicht schreiben kann. Ich kann ja über alles schreiben, nur es wird nicht alles veröffentlicht. Im Moment haben wir ja auch eine "mainstream" Meinung, besser wir hatten sie. In Sachen Krieg in Jugoslawien gab es sie. In allen Organen steht konkret ein bißchen was anderes, in Sachen Kritik an der katholischen Kirche, Abtreibungsregelungen oder so was. Im Prinzip wird in den großen Medien dazu nichts veröffentlicht. Aber ich kann meine Meinung schon überall veröffentlichen, aber dann eben in Winkelblättern. Twark: Da erreicht sie kein breites Publikum. Biskupek: Ich habe vorhin versucht, diese Tabuthemen in der DDR zu beschreiben. Ich habe immer versucht, wenn ich etwas schreibe, daß ich es bewältige. Ob es veröffentlicht wird, ist etwas anderes, aber ich wollte es schreiben können, im Text beschreiben können. Twark: Was ist für Dich anders geworden beim Schreiben von Satire, inklusive Kabarett, nach der Wende im Vergleich zur Vorwendezeit? Biskupek: Man kann es in einem schönen Bonmot, was nicht von mir ist, zusammenfassen: "Früher sollten wir möglichst nichts sagen, aber dadurch alles in der Gesellschaft verändern. Jetzt können wir alles sagen, und dadurch verändert sich nichts in der Gesellschaft." Es ist genau umgekehrt. Das ist der Unterschied. Ich kann ja alles sagen. Ich habe 1991-92 sehr viel Publizistik gemacht. Das ist nicht alles gesammelt, aber vieles ist in den Bänden, Wir Beuteldeutschen und im Fremdgehverkehrsamt erschienen. Aus dieser Zeit stammen viele Satiren. Und da habe ich eigentlich alles im Lande, was mir nicht paßte, aufgeschrieben. Es ist meistens in kleinen Zeitungen erschienen. Twark: Schreibst Du anders als vorher? Hat sich Deine Schreibmotivation seit 1989 verändert? Biskupek: Es ist schwerer, sicher. Ich will zusammenhängende Geschichten schreiben. Ich hatte einen zusammenhängenden Text, so was wie einen Roman, Der Bauchnabel, vor 1989 geschrieben. Jetzt habe ich mittlerweile zwei längere Geschichten geschrieben, drei, wenn man die Biographie von Karl Valentin sieht. Ich will schon lieber längere, zusammenhängende Geschichten schreiben. Das habe ich auch im Hinterkopf, ob man das Roman nennt oder wie auch immer. Twark: Hat das mit der Wende zu tun, oder ist das eine persönliche Entwicklung? Biskupek: Ich glaube, weil ich etwas älter geworden bin, etwas fetter. Ich habe mehr Sitzfleisch für so etwas.

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Twark: Das hat mich aber auch gewundert, warum gerade jetzt die längeren Texte kommen. Ich mag die längeren. Biskupek: Ich schreibe ja auch noch kürzere. Was mir noch sehr am Herzen liegt, sind diese Grotesken, die ich in den Künstlerbüchern geschrieben habe, so etwas wie die "Mama im Fernsehen," die auf meinem Werbezettel steht. Solche Grotesken liegen mir sehr, nur gibt es dafür keinen Markt. Die kann ich nur in Kunstlerbüchern veröffentlichen. Da veröffentlicht keiner ein Buch mit solchen Texten. In dem neuen Band, der jetzt erscheinen wird, Die geborene Heimat, stehen zwei solche Grotesken drin. Die habe ich 'reingeschmuggelt, weil sie angeblich Thüringen, also Gera bzw. Merseburg als Spielplätze haben. Aber sie haben mit Thüringen nur soviel zu tun, daß das die Folie ist. Twark: Steckt eine bewußte Utopie hinter Deinen Kritiken? Biskupek: Ich denke schon. Natürlich die Suche nach mehr Harmonie, nach Freundlichkeit. Ich will eigentlich, daß die Leute freundlich zueinander sind. Wer mich privat kennt, sagt immer: "Ich verstehe nicht, warum Du so böse Texte schreibst," weil ich privat ein sehr harmoniebedürftiger Mensch bin, und Streit eigentlich überhaupt nicht leiden kann. Aber durch meine Geschichten beschwöre ich das manchmal herauf, das merke ich. Es steckt immer die Sehnsucht nach freundlichen Beziehungen darin. Ich habe mal eine Geschichte geschrieben, sie heißt "Staatsbesuch" und steht im Leben mit Jacke. Da habe ich beschrieben, wie ein Staatsmann einen anderen Staatsmann besucht, wie ein Freund einen anderen besucht, nur in der Diktion eines Staatsbesuches. Er geht mit dem in die Kneipe, da gibt's eine Bulette, dann trinkt er mit ihm ein Bier, dann bezieht er ihm das Bett frisch, aber das alles in der Diktion, als ob das ein Staatsbesuch wäre. Das ist natürlich eine Harmonie, eine Harmoniesucht. Daß Sachen, die zu Staatsakten aufgeblasen werden, eigentlich ganz menschlich gemacht werden. Da wird die Sprache des Staatsaktes benutzt, um eine ganz normale Freundschaft zu beschreiben. Es ist eine Umkehrung, wenn Du so willst. In dem Quotensachsen denke ich schon, steckt eine Utopie. Wenn zum Schluß alle Leute aufstehen und das Leben, was der bis dahin erzählt hat, der gute Mario Claudius Zwintzscher, auf einmal ganz anders erzählt, steht schon der Wunsch dahinter, daß das, was wir erlebt haben, vielleicht doch anders sein könnte. Ich glaube schon, das ist eine Utopie. Twark: Hat die satirische Schreibart Dir geholfen, die Zeit der schnellen Veränderungen und Umbrüche nach der Wende zu bewältigen? Biskupek: Die hat mir im Leben immer geholfen. Deswegen schreibe ich ja, weil ich das Leben dann besser bewältige. Andere Leute müssen, wenn ihnen irgendeine Laus über die Leber läuft, schreien oder sie müssen die

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Frau schlagen, weiß ich was. Ich kann mich hinsetzen und eine Geschichte dazu schreiben. Ich kann all meinen Frust dort ablassen. Insofern gilt natürlich der Satz, den Wedel und ich da gleichermaßen benutzen, Wedel kritischer in diesem Streitfall Satire: "Satire ist ästhetisch sozialisierte Aggression." Das stammte nicht von mir. Das ist von irgendeinem Literaturwissenschaftler, aber es stimmt schon für mich. Da hat sich bei mir in diesen zwölf Jahren [seit der Niederschrift von Streitfall Satire] nichts geändert. Twark: Meinst Du, daß eine humoristische oder satirische Sichtweise Deinen Lesern die Zeit vor und nach der Wende erleichtert haben könnte? Biskupek: Ja, auf jeden Fall. Sonst würde ich gar nicht schreiben. Twark: Du schreibst also doch für ein Publikum. Biskupek: Ja, auch für ein Publikum, aber auch für mich. Ich bin so eitel zu sagen, wenn ich einen Text von mir nach ein paar Jahren wiederlese, dann finde ich ihn noch gut. Das ist sicher sehr eitel, aber das ist so. Der Text soll mir selbst gefallen. Und deswegen schreibe ich eben auch, habe eine bestimmte Pointierung, eine bestimmte Leitmotivtechnik und so weiter. Es muß auch ästhetisch stimmen. Mir muß er Spaß machen beim Lesen. Ich quäle mich dann auch nicht 'rum. Ich quäle mich mit den einzelnen Formulierungen, aber mit dem Gehalt der Geschichte quäle ich mich nicht ab. Das ist klar. Ich muß es nur erzählen können. Twark: Die richtige Sprache finden. Hat sich Deine Sprache seit der Wende verändert? Biskupek: Natürlich. Die muß sich deswegen schon verändert haben, weil ich mit den Bürokratismen, mit denen ich früher gespielt habe, nichts mehr anfangen kann. Wenn ich damals eine "allseitig entwickelte soundso," oder eine Floskel benutzte, die es damals gab, konnte man "allseitig verwickelte Gesellschaft" daraus machen. Das begreift heute keiner mehr. Twark: Erinnerst Du Dich gern an die DDR? Biskupek: Ja, weil ich mich gern an meine Jugend erinnere. Das ist doch ganz normal. Das hat mit dem Land DDR nichts zu tun. Ich erinnere mich überhaupt gern an Sachen. Ich erinnere mich gern daran, wie etwas gerochen hat, wie etwas geschmeckt hat, wie eine Landschaft war, wie ein Auto gefahren ist, oder wie ich durch den Schnee gelaufen bin. Ich erinnere mich gern an Sachen, und natürlich auch an Freunde, an Diskussionen mit ihnen, wie wir zusammengesessen haben. Natürlich erinnere ich mich gern an Diskussionen, ideologische, auch in denen man

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dann . . . Es gibt eigentlich nichts, an das ich mich ungern erinnere. Ich finde Erinnern schön. Twark: Und es gab keine so schlimmen Ereignisse, daß Du Dich an sie nicht erinnern willst? Biskupek: Ich bin wie alle anderen Menschen. Ich erinnere mich sehr genau, daß die Armee mir etwas zutiefst Zuwideres ist, und daß ich damals nicht zur Armee gemußt hätte. Ich war nur mal kurz bei der Reserve, aber diese Zeit war für mich niederschmetternd, weil sie mein Begriff von Menschlichkeit sehr umgebogen hat. Ich habe im Quotensachsen versucht, das ins Szene zu beschreiben. Da beschreibt der Ich-Erzähler in einem Satz im Quotensachsen, wie großartig es bei der Armee war, und wie wunderbar das war, und das war natürlich nicht so. Es läuft immer im Untertext, daß es eine Entwürdigung war. Insofern denke ich höchstens gerne daran zurück, wie ich das damals überstanden habe. Es ist außerdem menschlich, daß man etwas verklärt, aber manche verklären umgekehrt. Manche, die in der DDR gar keine Widerstandskämpfer waren, geben auf einmal vor, daß sie solche waren. Twark: Was hältst Du von Begriffen wie "Ostalgie"? Was verstehst Du darunter? Biskupek: Ich halte nicht so sehr viel davon. Ostalgie ist sicher eine Sehnsucht nach irgendwas, nach der Zeit, die wir hatten, aber ich bin überhaupt kein Ostalgist. Twark: In Deinem Verlagsgutachten von 1987 zu Mathias Wedels Ausverkauft: Kabarettbetrachtungen hast Du geschrieben: "Kabarett ist gerade dadurch gekennzeichnet, daß es nicht allein als literarisches Phänomen wahrgenommen werden kann, sondern als Treffpunkt von Literatur und Politik." Betrachtest Du Kabarett eher als Literatur oder als Schnittpunkt zwischen Literatur und Politik? Biskupek: Habe ich das damals geschrieben? Ich weiß es gar nicht mehr. Woher hast Du das Gutachten? Twark: Vom Bundesarchiv in Berlin. Ich habe dort geforscht und die Verlagsgutachten gefunden. Betrachtest Du Deine eigenen Werke eigentlich als eine Alternative zur Sicht der Medien oder Historiker auf die DDR und ihre Politik, vor und nach der Wende? Biskupek: Mir scheint es, daß es immer mehr zu einer Alternative wird. Nach 1989 schien mir die Betrachtung oft gerechter. Inzwischen ist es anders. Wir haben den Weimarer Bilderstreit beispielsweise, der zur Zeit läuft, "Aufstieg und Fall der Moderne." Das ist ein Beispiel, wie versucht wird, alles was in der DDR gemacht wurde, von einem ganz besonderen politischen, dogmatischen Winkel zu sehen. Da sage ich mir plötzlich, die

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DDR war größer, dieses Land war weiter und interessanter, als wie es jetzt dargestellt wird. Das habe ich früher nicht so gesehen. Erst in den letzten zwei, drei Jahren scheint es mir so, daß der Zweite Weltkrieg, oder was auch immer, immer einengender und, wenn Du so willst, restaurativer gesehen wird. Vorher hätte ich meine Werke nicht als so eine Alternative gesehen, höchstens eine humoristische Variante, aber nie als eine Alternative. Aber jetzt scheint es mir immer mehr so. Das gilt nicht nur für meine Arbeit, sondern auch für die meiner Kollegen, Landolf Scherzer zum Beispiel, der heute hier war. Twark: Ich sehe all die Werke, die ich in meiner Doktorarbeit behandele, als eine Alternative. Biskupek: Ich sehe meine Werke nicht als Träger von Ostalgie oder Zurücksehnen, sondern als Gerechtigkeit. Ich will nichts anderes als Gerechtigkeit für unser Leben, und wie wir es gelebt haben. Wir waren feige, und was weiß ich, aber wir waren auch lustig. Insofern ist das mit Kindheitsmuster von Christa Wolf vergleichbar, die auch sagte, es waren zwölf finstere Jahre unter den Nazis, aber wir waren in der Zeit jung, und hatten Kamaradschaften und so weiter. Twark: Wie Ein springender Brunnen von Martin Walser. Biskupek: Natürlich muß man bedenken, was damals alles passiert ist, aber mir scheint im Moment, daß die Medien die Hoheit haben wollen. Die Medien wollen die Hoheit haben über das, was gewesen ist, und ich glaube, wir haben etwas anderes erlebt. Deswegen ist Der Quotensachse für mich ein Gegenentwurf. Twark: Welches Verhältnis hattest Du und hast Du heute zu Schriftstellerorganisationen? Biskupek: Ich hatte früher die Einstellung, daß es gut und praktisch ist, darin zu sein, um etwas für sich zu erkämpfen, für uns als Kollegen. Das war wichtig in der DDR. Man konnte eben versuchen, eine Veröffentlichung durchzusetzen. Das ist heute auch wieder so, aber die Möglichkeiten dafür sind viel geringer. Ich bin in verschiedenen Vereinen, als Chorgeist, wenn man so will. Ich selbst habe nicht viel davon, muß ich sagen. Ich kann für mich kein Stipendium erstreiten, wenn ich in irgendeinem Gremium bin. Ich kann nur dafür sorgen, daß andere vielleicht eins bekommen. Denn ich gehöre, im Unterschied zu vielen anderen Autoren in Thüringen, zu den besser verdienenden. Ich bin kein Besserverdienender, aber ich verdiene so viel, daß ich als Schriftsteller leben kann. Das können die meisten nicht. Sie müssen etwas anderes machen. Insofern sind solche Organisationen wichtig. PEN-Club natürlich auch, als moralische Instanz. Aber seine Möglichkeiten sehe ich nicht als sehr groß an. Jetzt noch weniger als früher.

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Twark: Wie waren Deine Erfahrungen im Schriftstellerverband der DDR? Biskupek: Wir hatten schon einen gemeinsamen Feind. Das waren die Ideologiekommissionen, die uns die Bücher verbieten wollten, die Zensurbehörden und solche. Es gab im Schriftstellerverband genügend Dogmatiker. Aber letztlich habe ich mich mit mehreren auf einer Stufe befunden. Es waren oft die machtlosen Leute, die nicht in den Vorständen saßen. Twark: In Deinen Werken spielst Du intensiv mit der deutschen und manchmal mit der englischen Sprache. In vielen Texten von ostdeutschen Autoren vor und nach der Wende habe ich gemerkt, daß Sprachspiele und ein bewußtes Auseinandernehmen einzelner Wörter und Ausdrücke, um an einen tieferen, verborgenen oder völlig neuen Sinn zu kommen, sehr ausgeprägt sind. Gibt es besondere Gründe für dieses Sprachbewußtsein so vieler DDR-Autoren? Biskupek: Natürlich, Du kannst solche Leute wie Bert Papenfuß nennen. Auch Rosenlöcher gehört zu der Gruppe, die so was macht. Ich glaube, es hat etwas damit zu tun, daß wir mehr Zeit hatten, uns mit dem Text zu beschäftigen. Die Ablenkung durch die Multimedien, in denen Ton, Licht und alles zusammenkommt, hatten wir nicht. Wir hatten nur die Sprache. Nur die schwarzen Buchstaben auf weißem Papier. Da versucht man, etwas zu finden. Es hat sicher etwas mit Sklavensprache zu tun, und daß man einen zweiten Sinn hineingeheimnisst. Ich glaube auch, daß man in einem Land, das äußerlich relativ wenig Ablenkung bot, wir hatten keine Spielbank usw., man sich mehr mit der Sprache beschäftigt. Ich will es nicht zu weit treiben, aber die alten Juden, die in ihrem Städtl saßen, und nichts anderes als die Schriftrollen hatten, die haben sich andauernd damit beschäftigt und immer wieder einen neuen Sinn herausgeholt. Es hat möglicherweise mit einem Land der äußeren Armheit zu tun, daß man sich solche Dinge sucht und vielleicht auch das Wirkliche findet. Vielleicht ist für uns Menschen diese Sprache das, was uns erst zu Menschen macht, auch, daß wir die Sprache biegen können, ändern können, daß wir aus ihr einen neuen Sinn herausholen. Twark: Vielen Dank für Deine Offenheit in unserem Gespräch.

Appendix 3 Interview with Thomas Rosenlöcher Dresden, 28 January 2000 Jill Twark: Sie haben in der DDR eine Lehre als Handelskaufmann gemacht, an der Technischen Universität in Dresden Betriebswirtschaft studiert, und kurze Zeit als Arbeitsökonom gearbeitet. Ihr Lebenslauf sieht am Anfang so aus, als ob Sie Geschäftsmann statt Schriftsteller werden sollten. Wie sind Sie zum Schreiben gekommen? Thomas Rosenlöcher: Dieser merkwürdige Beruf ist eine Erscheinung, die oft bei ostdeutschen Schriftstellern vorkommt. Man konnte nicht ohne weiteres lernen oder studieren, was man wollte, sondern wurde auf bestimmte Wege geschoben. Ich hatte immerhin Abitur gemacht, und wollte natürlich Germanistik studieren, aber dann wurden nur drei, vier Leute im Jahr angenommen, und ich hatte keine Beziehungen, keine Chance anzukommen. Da habe ich ganz unglücklich gefragt, was überhaupt noch frei ist, und wurde in die ökonomische Richtung geschoben. Ich habe in Ostgezeter etwas darüber geschrieben. Das ist für mich heute kein Unglück. Viele Schriftsteller sind Rinderzüchter oder so was. Es hat doch etwas für sich, etwas anderes kennengelernt zu haben. So stelle ich mir vor, dass amerikanische Schriftsteller in früheren Zeiten, zum Beispiel im 19. Jahrhundert oft gejobbt haben. Wenn ich heute lese, dass Autoren heute von frühen Zeiten an Universitäten sind und so weiter, kommt es mir beängstigend vor. Es ist ganz gut so, wenn man stattdessen ein bisschen herumgedrückt worden ist. Oft wird man Schriftsteller, wenn man die Sozialisation nicht ganz schafft und seinen wirklichen Weg nicht gleich findet. Ich habe damals im Hörsaal gesessen und diese Sprache gehört. Es hat mich alles überhaupt nicht interessiert. Das war gerade gut. Da musste ich mich mit Literatur beschäftigen. Ich habe unter der Bank gelesen, überall gelesen, und auch schon geschrieben. So kommt man zur Literatur, wenn der Weg nicht so glatt ist. Es gehört eigentlich dazu, dass man eine Art Widerstand leistet, indem man versucht, etwas anderes zu finden, andere Worte als das, was geredet wird. Im Grunde war es sogar verstärkend gewesen[, dass ich Ökonomie studieren musste.] Obwohl es auch knapp war. Wenn ich es nicht

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geschafft hätte, wäre ich irgendwo im Büro hängengeblieben und wäre jetzt vor Kummer längst tot. Also so habe ich überlebt. Twark: Haben Sie also erst an der Uni angefangen zu schreiben? Rosenlöcher: Nee, ich habe als Kind schon versucht zu schreiben, nachgeahmt. Aber die Zeit, in der ich eine Art Sprung machte, war in der Universitäts- und Armeezeit. Das war das Furchtbarste. Da war ich immer so verzweifelt. Ich habe immer versucht, mich zu drücken. Ich hatte immer Ausreden erfunden und bin verschwunden. Bei der Armee war es furchtbar, aber mir ging es trotzdem gut. Das will ich jetzt nicht wiederholen, aber ich hatte immer einen Schlüssel zu einem Raum, der nicht mehr benutzt wurde. Da konnte ich ganze Tage verschwinden. Da habe ich viel gelesen. Ich bin immer mit einem Eimer und einem Besen herumgelaufen. Das war toll. Die anderen haben sie [die Offiziere in der Armee] immer gefragt, "Was machen Sie hier?" Aber ich wurde nie gefragt. Ich bin mit meinem Eimer weitergegangen. Was habe ich dann gelesen? Das Entgegengesetzte: Romantische Gedichte. Ich habe auch angefangen zu schreiben. Twark: Woher kam die Einladung, am Johannes R. Becher Institut in Leipzig zu studieren? Können Sie ein bisschen über Ihre Erfahrungen am Becherinstitut erzählen? Rosenlöcher: Das hängt auch wieder mit diesem Lebenslauf zusammen, dass ich mich festgefahren hatte. Ich saß in einem Büro und kam nicht mehr heraus. Twark: Hatten Sie denn überhaupt Zeit zum Schreiben? Rosenlöcher: Auch nicht mehr. Ich musste früh um dreiviertel fünf aufstehen und um halb sieben anfangen. Das war tödlich. Ich bin dann nach Hause gekommen, nachdem ich in der vollen Straßenbahn gestanden hatte, abends um sechs, und dann habe ich versucht noch zu schlafen und trotzdem noch zu schreiben. Das wurde schwer. Ich habe so eine liebe Frau. Sie hat dann die Gedichte zum Literaturinstitut geschickt. Ich hatte schon vierzig Gedichte. Das war damals für mich sehr viel. Und sie [die Leute am Institut] haben mich einfach genommen. Welche ideologischen Folgerungen das haben wurde, das habe ich alles nicht überlegt. Ich wollte nur 'raus aus dem Beruf. Ich wollte Zeit zum Schreiben für mich gewinnen. Das war dann auch das Vorteil des Instituts. Sie haben nicht zu viel Unterricht gemacht. Meistens kam man um 15 Uhr davon, manchmal schon mittags um 12. Dann konnte man wieder gehen. Ich habe dann wirklich in Leipzig gesessen – ich habe Leipzig nie richtig kennengelernt – und geschrieben. Was man an dem Institut erfahren hatte, das war gemischt. Einerseits war es ein Refugium – sie wollten uns eigentlich vorführen – aber es war gewissermaßen doch liberaler. So war unser

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Professor. Er hieß Max Walter Schulz. Er hat uns geschützt und war gleichzeitig bei der Stasi. Er hat sich mit allen eingelassen. Was er da alles gemacht hat, das kann ich nicht beurteilen. Aber uns hat er immer geschützt. Es ist eine ganz merkwürdige Geschichte, aber sie wollten uns eigentlich zeigen: "Wie ihr denkt, so schlimm ist das gar nicht. Das ist schon eine Gesellschaft, die auf dem Weg zum richtigen Sozialismus ist." Sie wollten uns belehren und einkaufen, eigentlich unseren oppositionellen Schneiden nehmen. Es war wie eine Glasglocke. Unter der Hüllung war ein künstliches Leben. Ich bekam auch ein gutes Stipendium. Das war unser Hauptproblem dort. Es war nicht so, dass wir uns das nicht gemerkt haben. Das war genau das Hauptproblem: dass man sich privilegiert fühlte und ein blödes Gefühl hatte. Man konnte nämlich auch dort viel mehr sagen als an einer normalen Hochschule – da flog man ja sofort – während die es so arrangiert haben, dass einem praktisch nichts passiert ist, wenn jemand zu meiner Zeit exmatrikuliert wurde. Früher schon. Insofern war es eine gemischte Erfahrung. Ich würde es aber jederzeit wieder machen. Ich hatte eine Familie und musste irgendwie ein bisschen Geld kriegen. Und ich kam aus diesem blöden Zweckrad. In der DDR durfte man nämlich nur einmal studieren. Aber dort durfte man ein zweites Mal studieren. Ich konnte noch mal Student sein und etwas lernen. Vor allem hatte ich dann einen Freiraum mit der Zeit gewonnen. Im Großen und Ganzen war es sehr positiv, weil es ein Freiraum in der DDR war. Aber es war natürlich eine Lüge, weil die DDR nicht so war, wie sie es uns vorgemacht haben. Twark: Ich habe an dem Institut einige alte Hausarbeiten gelesen, und gesehen, was für Themen sich die Leute ausgesucht hatten, und welche sich konform verhalten haben. Rosenlöcher: Bei uns war es "fifty-fifty" – genau die Hälfte war oppositionell, und die andere Hälfte war angepasst. Von den Angepassten ist keiner etwas geworden. Das ist klar. Das waren auch Leute, die auf die merkwürdigste Weise ans Institut gekommen sind. Viele waren sogar Trinker, Typen, die von der Armee kamen. Und sie hatte sich dieser Max Walter Schulz dann auch mitgenommen, und sie bekamen alle ein Alibi, sich vor der Staatssicherheit zu schützen. In meiner Akte ist ein Brief von him, worin er über mich eine Beurteilung schreibt, in dem er versucht zu erklären, dass ich ein kritischer Schriftsteller wäre, aber ich würde es nicht so meinen. Er hat mich wirklich beschützt. Heute weiß ich das gar nicht mehr gerne. Ich wollte es doch so meinen! Aber er hat sich kaputt gemacht, alles so seinen Genossen zu erklären. Wenn ich ihn heute sehen würde, würde ich mit ihm reden. Twark: Lebt er noch?

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Rosenlöcher: Nein, er lebt nicht mehr. Ich war damals mit ihm zum Glück sehr im Clinch. Heute denke ich mir: "Ach, das arme Schwein, er hat sich sehr überrannt." Uns hat er aber immer sehr beschützt. Peter Gosse war mein Lehrer in Lyrik, und er war ganz gut. Früher gab es Georg Maurer, deswegen berufe ich wieder auf das Institut, denn er war wichtig gewesen. Er hat die Welt für die Studenten aufgemacht, und der Peter Gosse hat das weiter getan. Wir haben nie irgendwelchen Quatsch gelesen, sondern wirklich gute Literatur. Auch Weltliteratur, bis hin zu [Rudolf] Bahro, den er uns zu lesen gegeben hat. Damals konnte man für Bahro eingesperrt werden. Aber uns wäre das am Institut sowieso nicht passiert. Twark: Und Kafka? Rosenlöcher: Sowieso. Twark: Bevor seine Werke in der DDR veröffentlicht wurden? Rosenlöcher: Doch, natürlich. Ich könnte mich nie darauf hinausreden, dass ich etwas nicht gelesen habe, weil es das nicht gab. Twark: Also man konnte praktisch alles dort lesen? Rosenlöcher: Ja, es gab Wege. Oder man hatte Freunde, die es hatten. Man hatte Beziehungen, und man redete ununterbrochen über alles, was man las. Twark: Und man konnte in den Vorlesungen direkt über alles diskutieren? Rosenlöcher: Ja, ich denke schon. Kafka haben wir sowieso offiziell gelesen. Twark: Direkt vor der Wende haben Sie sich in Die verkauften Pflastersteine beschwert: "Dieser fortlaufende Landeskummer macht provinziell. Das immergleiche Gejammer über Unfreundlichkeit und Verfall macht utopiealso kunstunfähig." Mir scheint dieser Satz immer noch aktuell. Würden Sie dies auch noch heute für gültig erklären? Rosenlöcher: Das ist kompliziert. Es verblüfft mich, wenn ich das heute wieder höre. Nur wer Utopien hat, kann Kunst machen, habe ich damals gemeint. Das meine ich gar nicht mehr ganz in dem Sinne. Ich bin schon wieder einen Schritt weiter zurückgegangen. Das merke ich gerade. Für mich war es damals eine Voraussetzung, dass ich eine andere Gesellschaft will, dann kann ich schreiben. Das meine ich immer noch ein bisschen. Aber es ist nicht mehr so eine unbedingte Voraussetzung für die Kunst. Twark: Es gibt aber auch Künstler, die völlig ohne Utopie schreiben. Rosenlöcher: Für mich war das damals ein absolutes Muss. Das war so. Das hängt damit zusammen, dass wir in dem Moment eine Verheißung zu

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tun hatten damit, mit Utopieversprechen, und da lebte man ja immer das Gegenteil. Und dass man so damit konfrontiert wird, dass man das eigentlich will, was gesagt wird. Für mich war dann Utopie einfach, dass ich etwas anderes will. Und ich denke heute, wenn es mir völlig verloren ginge, dann würde ich schon ärmer sein. Und ich mag mich auch dafür, dass ich das wollte und dachte. Aber nun werde ich älter und ich sehe schon, wenn man genau hinschaut und etwas von der eigenen Existenz einfängt, ist das auch schon sehr viel. Twark: Was für Utopien haben Sie noch? Rosenlöcher: Das lässt sich nicht mehr so sagen. Twark: Einfach Freundschaft oder das Miteinander, zum Beispiel? Rosenlöcher: Ich meine immer noch zum Beispiel, dass das Überleben der Menschheit eine schöne Utopie ist. Das würde eigentlich ein überschreitendes Handeln erfordern. Und nicht das angepasste Handeln zu machen, das sich gerade so anbietet oder das opportun ist, sondern schon das überschreitende Handeln. Nicht, dass wir eine tolle Gesellschaft bekommen, sondern dass wir überhaupt überleben. Das ist insofern für mich nicht verschwunden, denn ich denke für mich immer noch, dass es Leute geben muss, die dieses überschreitende Handeln einfordern. Und wenn das völlig verschwindet, sind wir dann wirklich verloren. Wenn wir nicht mal das Geringste machen. Aber der Glauben an die große Gesellschaft der Gerechtigkeit, der ist weg. Trotzdem habe ich damals auch gedacht, diese Gesellschaft gibt es nicht, aber ich habe nur gedacht, dass man sie trotzdem wollen sollte. Aber es gibt einen zweiten Teil zu dieser Frage, nämlich das Gejammer. Im Ostgezeter habe ich auch darüber nachgedacht. Also ich finde das mit dem Gejammer gar nicht so schlimm. Ich halte es auch mehr für ein Medienklischee. Das gibt es zwar hier und da, und manchmal finde ich es unangenehm, aber . . . Twark: Von 1992 bis 1994 habe ich in Leipzig studiert, und in der Zeit gab es gerade das große Gejammer. Rosenlöcher: Vielleicht, aber das ist ja normal für Ostler. Twark: Vielleicht für die Deutschen im Allgemeinen. Ich habe es auch im Westen erlebt. Rosenlöcher: Nein, das ist aber etwas anderes. Das ist auf einem hohen Niveau. Das ist etwas anderes. Twark: Was meinen Sie damit? Rosenlöcher: Weil man dort nicht herumsitzt: "Mir geht es schon gut. Ich liege schon im siebten Himmel und jammere immer noch." Das ist etwas anderes.

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Twark: Als wenn man arbeitslos ist und wirklich Probleme hat. Rosenlöcher: Oder wenn ich eigentlich Objekt der Geschichte bin. Das sind Dinge, die Leute immer wieder vergessen. Man sollte Subjekt der Geschichte sein und nicht Objekt. Und die Ostdeutschen sind einfach immer wieder Objekte, bis heute, im stärkeren Maß als die anderen. Beziehungsweise haben sie sich ja das Bewusstsein für diese Objektschicksale aufbewahrt. Deswegen finde ich das Jammern nicht so schlecht. Als ich aber in Amerika war, habe ich gemerkt, dass man alles immer positiv sieht, bis hin zur Erziehung. Das hat mich beeindruckt. Und es ist auch logisch, dass man den anderen immer sagt: "Du schaffst es," und dass man immer positiv ist. Twark: Das kann auch übertrieben sein. Rosenlöcher: Ja, aber ich fand es auch toll. Aber die Leute sind anders sozialisiert, und das ist etwas anderes. Twark: Sie haben ein starkes Selbstbewusstsein. Rosenlöcher: Und wenn sie jammern, dann bedeutet es nicht so viel. Das führt dann zu großen Missverständnissen zwischen Ost und West, weil das eine Lebenshaltung ist. Man ist [im Osten] eher ein bisschen pessimistisch, und wenn es dann doch mal ein bisschen besser kommt, ist man froh. Und die Westdeutschen sind eher amerikanischer, wenn man so will. Sie sagen eher: "Das Leben muss schön sein, und wir machen was daraus." Und die Sachsen sagen: "Das wird sowieso nichts." Ich kann es am Beispiel des amerikanischen "How are you?" beschreiben. In den USA hat das keine Bedeutung. Es ist nur ein Gruß wie "Guten Tag." In Westdeutschland gibt es eine Zwischenstufe. Es hat es etwas mehr Bedeutung, aber nicht viel mehr. Im Osten hat die Frage noch wirklich Bedeutung, weißt Du? Wollen wir einfach "Du" sagen? Twark: Ja, kein Problem. Rosenlöcher: Und wenn man mich fragt, "Wie geht's dir?," dann überlege ich mir aber echt. Aber wenn die Westdeutschen dann die Wahrheit von den Ostdeutschen hören, dann denken sie immer, dass das Gejammer ist. Twark: Ist das dann nur eingebildetes Gejammer? Rosenlöcher: Das ist eine unterschiedliche Welthandlung. Meine eigenen Gefühle sind eher gemischt. Twark: Als ich in Leipzig studiert habe, habe ich sehr viele Arbeitslose kennengelernt. Die Eltern von meinen Freunden, zum Beispiel, waren gerade arbeitslos geworden, und es ging ihnen schlecht, und deshalb habe ich überall trübe Geschichten gehört, und ich dachte mir, "Mensch, wie können sie so leben." Dann habe ich Deinen Text die Harzreise gelesen, und dann das von Bernd Schirmer, Schlehweins Giraffe, und ich dachte, so

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muss man das anpacken. Und dann war ich wirklich angetan, und wollte diese und ähnliche Bücher in meiner Doktorarbeit behandeln. Rosenlöcher: Meine Gefühle sind eher gemischt, und deswegen kann ich nur so reagieren. Das mit dem Humor, dem Thema Deiner Doktorarbeit, also ich suche keinen Humor, aber meine Gefühle sind gemischt. Und viele Dinge habe ich erst ausgedrückt, wenn sie auf der Kippe sind, und wenn es gelingt, mit ein bisschen Melancholie, aber doch eher heiter. Also halte ich sie nicht für so tragisch, diese ganzen Sachen. Aber das mit dem Gejammer, das verteidige ich trotzdem. Wenn sie jetzt alle nicht mehr jammern würden, dann wäre das eine Verbiegung. Das wäre noch viel furchtbarer als das Jammern. Twark: Es wäre dann ganz künstlich. Rosenlöcher: Und das kann ich bloß wirklich keinem erklären. Und die Medien machen die Westler, beziehungsweise die angepassten Ostler. Und da wird das Gejammer als eine negative Haltung gesehen, wobei es eigentlich befreiend ist. Kluge Leute klagen sich gesund. Manchmal ist das Gejammer aber auch unangenehm, zum Beispiel wenn Leute jammern, um ihre Vergangenheit damit zuzudecken, oder wenn sie nicht wissen wollen, dass auch einiges besser geworden ist, weil sie in dem anderen System zu verstrickt waren. Das spürt man auch ganz schnell, wenn es zu dick wird. Das ist ein ungeheurer Vorgang, was in dieser Zeit in Deutschland passiert ist. Es ist ein Auswechsel eines ganzen Teils ihrer Wirklichkeit. Wenn ich plötzlich in Amerika säße, und es käme andere Rundfunksender, wäre das ganz schön komisch. Das führt zu einer gewissen Regression, und ich halte es für normal. Das ist auch einmalig in der Weltgeschichte. Und dass die InDustriewelt plötzlich ausgetauscht wird. Das führt zu der Reaktion, dass man sich nicht mehr heimisch fühlt. Twark: Im gleichen Werk gibst Du Deine "verteufelte sächsische Höflichkeit" die Schuld daran, dass Du Dich in der DDR einigermaßen konform verhalten hast. In Sachsen hat aber die Revolution von 1989 begonnen. Wie erklärst Du diesen Widerspruch? Rosenlöcher: Allerdings war dann Leipzig wichtiger. Die Leipziger sind anders. Ich habe auch gelitten, als ich am Literaturinstitut war, weil das ein anderer Schlag ist. Sie sind Schwafler. Sie sind nicht so verbindlich. Auch in Lesungen hat man es leichter hier [in Dresden]. Es ist kein schlechtes Publikum in Leipzig, aber in Dresden sind die Leute etwas weicher. Höflichkeit ist nur ein Teilbereich. In Leipzig sind die Leute proletarischer. Das Plebejische ist in Leipzig immer stärker gewesen als in Dresden. Hier sind die Leute etwas gehobener. Zu DDR-Zeiten gab es hier sehr viele Elektrikbetriebe. Es gab immer mehr Beamte, mehr Angestellte. Auch das Sächsisch hat sich in Leipzig noch besser gehalten.

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Mit der Revolution weiß ich nicht. Ich glaube, es hat in Leipzig angefangen, weil es dort wie hier in Dresden mit Leuten Dicht gepackt war, eigentlich dort noch Dichter. Mangelware gab es dort mehr als in Berlin, und in Berlin waren die Leute einfach angepasster. Die Höflichkeit geht nicht so sehr durch, dass nicht einmal damit Schluss war. Twark: In "Sächsisch als Verlierersprache" aus Ostgezeter hast Du versucht zu erklären, warum der Status von diesem, Deinem eigenen Dialekt, in den letzten 200 Jahren so gesunken ist. Kennst Du die Lieder der Ö La Paloma Boys oder Stefan Raabs Lied "Maschendrahtzaun"? Was hältst Du von solchen Verspottungen der Sachsen und des sächsischen Dialektes? Rosenlöcher: Die Regina Zindler ist Vogtländer und keine Sächsin. Twark: Aber sie gilt als Sächsin. Die Westdeutschen denken, dass das Sächsisch ist, was sie spricht. Rosenlöcher: Der Stand eines Dialektes hat mit dem ökonomischen Stand eines Volkes zu tun. Das ist in Sachsen ganz ungünstig gewesen. Viele wohnten an der Grenze zu Westdeutschland, und die Westdeutschen haben nur Erfahrung mit ihnen gehabt. Wenn die Westdeutschen nach Osten kamen, begegnete ihnen der Dialekt so: "Nu, machen Se mal uff hier" und so. Sie hatten dieses "teile und herrsche" Prinzip. Bei uns waren es immer die Preußen. Sie waren unsere Chefs. Dass das nun weiter geht, ist klar. Das hat nun einen Selbstlauf. Im Fernsehen veralbern sie die Dialekte, aber das ist nicht so dramatisch. Ich finde jeden Dialekt eine Würde. Man muss die Würde zeigen, und das Komische stellt sich von alleine ein. Bei Lessing in Minna von Barnhelm wurde der sächsische Dialekt gewürdigt. Das sind Sachsen und sie reden toll! Damals ist die Würde da gewesen. Das müsste man eben wieder erreichen. Aber das wird jetzt nur so vermarktet, wie das bei jedem Dialekt ist: entweder veralbert oder vermarktet. Als Kind habe ich gedacht, alle Leute reden Sächsisch. Erst später habe ich gemerkt, dass es Leute gibt, die anders sprechen. Die Preußen reden anders, habe ich gemerkt. Es ist schön an Deutschland, dass es so viele Dialekte gibt. Twark: Deine Texte, so philosophisch und nachdenklich wie sie sind, sind auch immer sehr nahe am konkreten, alltäglichen Leben gebunden. Die verkauften Pflastersteine ist ein Tagebuch, die Harzreise ein Reisebericht, Ostgezeter beinhaltet viele Deiner Gedanken über die Nachwendezeit und Deine Gedichte widerspiegeln oft Deine Eindrücke von der Natur oder Alltagsgegenständen. Erfährst Du noch Änderungen in Deiner Umwelt, ändern sich diese Alltagserlebnisse weiterhin, oder ist eine Art Stabilität oder Ruhe in Dein Leben zurückgekehrt, die Du auch für das Schreiben benötigst, wie Du in Die verkauften Pflastersteine behauptest?

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Rosenlöcher: Eher das Letztere. Es würde immer noch ganz viel zu beobachten geben, auch an sprachlichen Veränderungen. Aber es ist jetzt nicht mehr so brennend. In den ersten zehn Jahren musste ich diese Dinge schreiben, weil ich selber Orientierungsprobleme hatte. Was bedeutet das, wenn sich alles ändert? Ich musste mir auch die Dinge merken. Jetzt ist das nicht mehr so dringend. Ich merke, es ist auch eine Art Resignation dabei. Ich kann zum Beispiel Dresden nicht retten, was ich mir von Dresden aber wünsche. Irgendwie habe ich immer gedacht, ich kann es alleine retten. Ich werde wirklich auch älter, das merke ich. Es ist mir jetzt nicht mehr so wichtig, Änderungen als Chronist mitzuvollziehen, weil ich jetzt selber meine Standortbestimmung nicht mehr so dringend habe. Ich stelle mir nicht mehr die Fragen: "Wie verhalte ich mich jetzt hier in dieser Gesellschaft?" "Kann man doch noch etwas retten?" Das Denken von damals ist ein bisschen weggegangen. Das ist halb schade, und halb ist es noch halt so. Insofern hat sich die Ruhe ein bisschen eingekehrt, was ich ganz am Anfang wusste, wie ich es damals erzählt habe. Trotzdem denke ich, über diesen Vorgang des Ruhigwerdens und des Mich-Abfindens müsste ich jetzt etwas schreiben. Twark: Dass Du jetzt noch für Veränderungen offen bist, ist ja toll. So versackt man nicht in Nostalgie und denkt nicht immer nur an die DDR. Rosenlöcher: Das sowieso. Das waren erst die zehn Jahre Übergang, und jetzt bin ich erst nun mal da. Es ist aber nicht ganz beim Landen, aber bald. Wenn ich dieses CDU-Skandal sehe, dann ist es immer noch für mich merkwürdig fremd. Das sind ja gar nicht richtig meine Leute. Ich kann mich nicht mal richtig aufregen. Das ist mein Problem. Twark: Ich freue mich, dass es Skandale woanders gibt, und nicht immer nur in den USA. Rosenlöcher: Daran merke ich, dass das Land [die BRD] für mich immer eine Fremdheit bleiben wird. Twark: Das merke ich auch noch bei meinen Freunden in Leipzig, die alle um die dreißig sind. Es bleibt immer noch eine Art Entfremdung. Rosenlöcher: In der DDR habe ich den Politikern auch nicht enthusiastisch zugerufen. Nach dem Fall der Mauer haben viele Ostdeutsche "Helmut" gerufen. Die müssten jetzt getäuschter sein. Eigentlich gibt es jetzt zu wenig Zeit in meinem Leben. Ich kann nicht jeder Aktualität hinterher rennen, weil ich wirklich langsam schreibe und ich muss dann sehen, was für mich wichtig ist. Twark: Viele Deiner Gedichte sind auch zeitlos. Nicht alle, aber viele. Einige hätten fast in der Barockzeit entstehen können. Nicht ganz, aber fast.

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Rosenlöcher: Ich denke, das ist schon eine Art ankommen. Wenn es andere geschafft haben, werde ich es auch machen können. Ich gucke aber immer um mich herum, und sehe, wie die Häuser neu gemacht werden. Das interessiert mich schon noch. Oder wie sich sprachlich noch einiges ändert. Zum Beispiel auf dem Dorf, wo ich wohne, da sagt man noch nicht "O.K.," obwohl man ja überall sonst in Deutschland "O.K." sagt. Twark: Sagst Du "O.K."? Rosenlöcher: Kaum. Aber in Amerika mochte ich es. Das ist etwas anderes, wenn man im Ursprungsland ist. Bei uns auf dem Dorf sagen sie immer noch "geht los." Wenn ich sage, "Kommst Du morgen zu mir? Du musst etwas reparieren," sagen sie "geht los." Hier unten in Dresden sagt das kein Mensch mehr. So was interessiert mich sehr. In der Sprache drückt man sein Verhältnis zur Gesellschaft aus. Das ist schon eine Art "O.K.," "es geht los," aber es ist doch etwas behebiger, etwas ländlicher. Für mich bleibt das die eigentlich spannende Geschichte, und die will ich immer irgendwie weiter beibehalten, wenn es geht. Welche mentalen Unterschiede – trotz der Angleichung des Äußerlichen, der Wirtschaft – bleiben werden. Mich interessieren diese Unterschiede. Nicht nur die regionalen Unterschiede, sondern, ich frage mich, was von den vierzig Jahren Sozialismus in Zukunft, in zehn Jahren bleiben wird, und ob das, was bleibt, nur negativ ist. Oder vielleicht bleibt doch etwas positives, was man behaupten kann. Twark: Ich hoffe, dass die Freundlichkeit und die Wärme, die ich hier spüre, bleiben. Rosenlöcher: Ja. Je weiter man nach Osten kommt, desto mehr wird das so. Bis nach Russland. Es ist unglaublich, was passiert, wenn man dort auftaucht. Twark: Während der Geschehnisse rund um die Wende hast Du hauptsächlich Tagebuch geführt. Relativ kurz danach hast Du aber einen sehr kunstvollen, ironisch-humoristischen Prosatext, Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern, verfassen können. Was ist in Dir innerlich vorgegangen, damit Du vom Tagebuch, also das direkt Erlebte, zu einer solchen künstlerischen Heiterkeit in der Harzreise gelangen konntest? Rosenlöcher: Das finde ich wichtig jetzt, aber das weiß ich gar nicht! Ich hatte immer Sehnsucht nach richtiger Prosa. Und ich bin auch dorthin zurückgefallen. Twark: War das Tagebuch das Unnatürliche dann? Rosenlöcher: Damals, als ich das Tagebuch schrieb, war das die einzige Möglichkeit, etwas zu schreiben. Aber ich habe damals auch gemerkt – das merkt man auch bei Gedichten – dass man die Dinge nur richtig

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ausdrückt, wenn man sie ein bisschen gestaltet. Selbst beim Tagebuch muss man Dinge weglassen, man muss wählen, und damit geht es los. Dann aber dachte ich, Du kannst nicht weiter Tagebuch schreiben, weil dann das Gefälle nicht mehr so groß war. Damals, als ich das Tagebuch führte, habe ich mich nach einer Woche immer gewundert, was alles immer passiert war. Es wurde alles schnell fremd. Ich konnte es aber schon ein bisschen gestalten. In der Zeit war eigentlich klar, wie alles ungefähr laufen wurde. Damals musste ich mehr gestalten, um Abstand zu nehmen. Twark: Also es hat Dir geholfen, mit den Geschehnissen klar zu kommen? Rosenlöcher: So wird es gewesen sein. Ich hatte das Gefühl, Du kannst es nicht so weiter schreiben. Du musst Dich selber gehen sehen, Dich nicht mehr als unmittelbares Ich einsetzen, sondern als ein gestaltetes Ich. Das hat mir einen bestimmten Abstand, eine bestimmte Souveränität gegeben. Auch dieses Bewusstsein jetzt zu wissen, wie die Dinge ungefähr laufen werden, spielt eine Rolle. Aber ich habe immer noch den Wunsch, wie im Tagebuch, zu gucken, wie man sein erstes Weizenbier trinkt. Das hat mich schon immer noch interessiert. Es ist auch ein Glücksfall gewesen, weil ich ein paar Erlebnisse hatte, die das verstärkt haben. Ich bin zum Beispiel in Goslar angekommen, und da war gerade diese Weltmeisterschaft. Twark: Also das ist eigentlich passiert! Rosenlöcher: Ich bin eigentlich dreimal gewandert. Bei der ersten Wanderung bin ich gegangen, ohne zu wissen, dass ich etwas schreiben werde. Das war das Beste. Und da hatte ich das entscheidende Erlebnis, nämlich, dass in Goslar eine Art Walpurgisnacht stattfand. Zu denken, dass ist eine Walpurgisnacht, wie sie da diese Weltmeisterschaft gefeiert haben. Da hatte ich das Gefühl, da hatte ich den Ton angegeben. Jetzt könnte ich etwas darüber schreiben, wie man vom Osten nach dem Westen geht. Und dadurch kam ich wirklich ins Gestalten herein. Das war Glück. Ich hatte auch ein paar andere Erlebnisse, in anderen Zusammenhängen. Das Badengehen zum Beispiel. Das war zum Beispiel nicht im Harz. Ich habe andere Erlebnisse mit hineingeschrieben. Alles hatte ich etwas anders erlebt, weil ich manchmal solche Wanderungen mache. Twark: Wanderst Du dann immer allein? Rosenlöcher: Mit meiner Frau kann ich nicht gut wandern, weil ich dann immer innerlich abhängig bin. Zum Beispiel mein bester Freund, der in der Harzreise vorkommt, der der eigentliche Wanderfachmann ist, der will immer mit mir wandern.

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Twark: Meinst Du Sankt Ernst? Rosenlöcher: Ja. Twark: Das ist also ein wirklicher Mensch? Rosenlöcher: Ja, das ist ein Mensch. Twark: Und er lag im Krankenhaus? Rosenlöcher: Ja, das stimmt auch. Gleich nach der Wende hat den einer angefahren. Er war auch mit mir am Literaturinstitut. Das ist eigentlich ein wichtiger Freund für mich. Twark: Drei Reisen waren das dann also, die in der Harzreise zusammengefasst sind. In welchen Monaten hast Du sie unternommen? Rosenlöcher: Das war schon um die Zeit des Währungsumtausches. Ähnlich wie Heine, der damals auch gegangen ist, dann sich zusammengerafft hat. Zum Beispiel in seiner Harzreise hat er nicht erzählt, dass er bis nach Weimar gegangen ist. Ich würde gerne noch so eine Wanderung aufschreiben, und zwar ohne alles Politische, wenn ich das mal könnte. Wie das so ist heute, wenn man von da nach da wandert. Man ist sich sicher, auf sich selbst ausgesetzt zu sein. Es ist auch langweilig. Twark: Und die Nacht im Wald? Rosenlöcher: Sie war vorher mal. Twark: Und der Traum? Rosenlöcher: Der Traum, den habe ich dann erfunden. Den brauchte ich irgendwie, um die Ängste auszudrucken. Ich bin ja doch dabeigewesen. Und dann kamen wirklich diese Leute [die im Traum vorkommen]. Es war am Anfang ganz schlimm. Das habe ich auch dramatisch erlebt. Das sind solche Leute, die heute ganz brav sind, und von denen die anderen schon gar nicht mehr wissen. Es war auch alles eine Episode in der deutschen Geschichte. Zum Beispiel der Chef von der Zeit, oder der Schirrmacher. Sie waren alle ganz scharf auf Christa Wolf und so weiter. Die Sache mit Christa Wolf, das habe ich unheimlich auf mich bezogen. Es hat mich immer unheimlich getroffen. Ich saß da, und ich war das. Ich war Christa Wolf. Twark: Du hast es also sozusagen am eigenen Leib erfahren. Rosenlöcher: Ich habe das als Kesseltreiben erlebt. Das [der Traum] war also ein Versuch, mich davon frei zu machen. Diese Leute, die plötzlich gekommen sind, waren schlimm, die, die gesagt haben: "Du, Du hast Dich angepasst. Du hast falsch gelebt." Das stimmte ja, und es stimmte wiederum nicht. Was wisst ihr denn davon, wenn ihr da lebt. Das war schon existentiell. Dadurch kam der Traum natürlich zustande. Inzwischen habe ich mich längst daran gewöhnt. Und ich meine, es ist

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wirklich nicht so, aber ich spiele mit diesen Klischees. Und ich hoffe, man wird das merken, dieses Spiel mit den Klischees: "Er macht das aber auch mit sich selber." Es gab mal von der Iris Radisch in der Zeit ein paar Sätze darüber. Es war eine Abhandlung über fünf oder sechs DDR-Autoren. Das war zur Frühjahrsmesse in Leipzig, nachdem das Buch erschienen ist. Es gab eine Beilage darin. Es gab dann einen Sammelartikel von jemandem namens Jannsen, glaube ich, darin, über junge Berliner Autoren. Es stand darin, dass die Ostautoren immer nur Klischees bedienen würden. Der zitiert etwas von mir. Das fand ich so bezeichnend. Einer wird in dem Zitat dargestellt mit einer Frankfurter Allgemeinen in der Hand. Es ist völlig ironisch gebrochen, aber sie hat das als Angriff verstanden. Das war immer mein Problem im Westen, dass mich die Leute nicht verstanden haben. Im Osten wurde dann gesagt, es versteht im Westen keiner was. Das ist auch nicht wahr. Ich habe also nur gute Erfahrungen. Was manchmal nicht verstanden wird, das ist die Selbstironie. Das hängt damit zusammen, mit dem, worüber wir uns vorhin unterhalten haben, mit diesem oberflächlichen "Wie geht es dir?" Das ich mich selber miesmache, das wird irgendwie gar nicht wahrgenommen. Nur der Angriff. Das finde ich eine interessante soziologische Beobachtung, die ich an der Rezeption dieser Harzreise gemerkt habe. Twark: Hast Du also viel über Dich selbst gelernt, oder über die ostdeutsche Mentalität? Rosenlöcher: Ja. Twark: Zu Deinen Vorbildern für die Harzreise gehören Goethes und Heines Harzreisen. Ich habe eine wunderbare Kindergeschichte von Dir aus der Mitte der achtziger Jahre entdeckt, die auch das gleiche Thema aufgreift, nämlich, Herr Stock geht über Stock und Stein. Hast Du Deine Idee für die nachwende Harzreise auch aus dieser Quelle bezogen? Rosenlöcher: Eigentlich nicht. Aber das liegt daran, dass ich oft wandere. Diese Geschichte mit Herrn Stock ist die Geschichte davon, wie ich mich vom Büro löse, weil ich eine Weile lang im Büro gesessen habe, dann zum Wanderer wurde. Twark: Also ist die Geschichte auch etwas autobiografisch? Rosenlöcher: Aber nur ein kleines bisschen. Twark: Ich fand die Kunst in dem Buch auch total schön. Es war mit Tüpfen und Farben, ein bisschen wie Jackson Pollack. Rosenlöcher: Ich würde gerne sowas wieder in der Art machen, bloß das würde keiner kaufen. Versgeschichten macht kein Mensch mehr.

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Twark: Ich fand auch die Verbindung zwischen der Kunst und dem Text sehr schön. Rosenlöcher: Das ist mein Lebensmotiv, dass man hinausgeht und wandert. Ich wandere gern. Ich habe auch in Amerika viel davon erzählt. Aber das Wort gibt es wohl in Amerika nicht, oder? Twark: "Hiking" sagt man dazu, aber es hat nicht die Konnotationen vom "wandern." Rosenlöcher: Ich glaube, das war mehr sportlich. Twark: Das "Wandern" scheint etwas typisch Deutsches zu sein. Rosenlöcher: Spazierengehen ist vielleicht noch treffender. Das ist, was ich eigentlich meine. Mal stehenbleiben und beobachten. Meine Frau läuft immer viel zu schnell. Twark: Hast Du mal daran gedacht, Deine DDR-Kinderbücher oder Dramen nochmal verlegen zu lassen? Rosenlöcher: Nein, eigentlich nicht. Ich wüsste nicht, wie. Twark: Denn das Buch Das langgestreckte Wunder ist auch ganz lustig. Rosenlöcher: Das wurde mir angeboten, und ich habe gesagt, ich würde es gerne sogar weiterschreiben. Man kann den Mann nämlich in den Westen noch wachsen lassen. Das ergibt noch was, eine halbe Seite oder so. Das wäre aber Schluss dann. Es gibt auch Hörspiele, aber das sind lange Geschichten. Du hast aber viele Sachen von mir 'rausgekriegt. Das sind sehr entlegene Dinge. Twark: In der Deutschen Bücherei in Leipzig gibt es eben alles, oder fast alles. Nur die Theaterstücke nicht. Rosenlöcher: Klar. Sie sind alle beim Rundfunk, und zwar auf Klopapier gedruckt worden. Twark: Wunderbar. Hast Du sie denn noch? Rosenlöcher: Ich denke schon, ja. Twark: Du musst sie aufbewahren und irgendwann nochmal verlegen lassen, oder mindestens nochmal aufschreiben lassen. Ich brauche sie für meine Arbeit zwar nicht direkt, aber es wäre nicht schlecht, sie mal aufzubewahren. Das alte DDR-Papier ist so schlecht. Es geht kaputt. Rosenlöcher: Ja. Es gibt vielleicht hier noch etwas zu erwähnen. Mit diesem langgestreckten Wunder – dazu gibt es auch ein Gedicht. Es ist ein Grundgedicht von mir gewesen. Ich wurde dann aufgefordert, das nochmal für Kinder zu schreiben. Und das ist eigentlich das Deutschlandthema. Da kann man vielleicht sehen, dass das Thema bei mir schon vor der Wende da war. Es ist für mich heute selber sehr

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verblüffend. Es hat mich damals sehr beschäftigt, dass ich selber nicht hinüber gehen konnte und aber auch nicht wollte. Es war sehr gemischt bei mir. Es ist nicht so bloß. Twark: Nicht mal zum Gucken? Rosenlöcher: Das schon, aber ich hatte immer Angst vorm Westen. Das ist ein Grundmotiv. Ich hatte immer Angst, da fällt Dir nichts mehr ein, da verhungerst Du. Es wird hart im Westen. Das war auch die Antriebskraft in den letzten zehn Jahren, mich zu behaupten. Twark: Und es hat geklappt. Rosenlöcher: Ja, aber ich bin sehr viel herumgefahren und hatte immer noch Angst zu verhungern. Diese Angst ist bei allen Ostdeutschen tief, und bei Künstlern besonders. Bis hin zu meinem Freund Hilbig, der bedeutendste Dichter. Sie gucken alle, als ob sie jeden Moment verhungern würden. Twark: Auch der Hilbig? Er hat so viel geschrieben und es verkauft sich gut. Rosenlöcher: Klar. Die Angst brauchen sie alle nicht mehr haben. Aber das ist so mit dem Jammern. Man fühlt sich nicht als Sieger, selbst wenn man es mal ist. Twark: Vielleicht ist es auch gut so. Zu arrogant zu werden, ist dann auch schlecht. Rosenlöcher: Klar. Das ist eine Art Vorsicht dann. Twark: Wer, außer Goethe, Heine, vielleicht Wilhelm Busch und einige Barockdichter, sind Deine literarischen Vorbilder? Gehören auch einige ausländische Autoren dazu, vielleicht die, die im magischen Realismus schreiben? Rosenlöcher: Also bei mir ist es kurz gesagt: Eichendorff, Eichendorff, Eichendorff. Dann zweimal Mörike, dann Brockes. Twark: Brockes, das habe ich mir gedacht. Rosenlöcher: Aber Cesar Vallejo ist zum Beispiel auch ein wichtiger Lyriker für mich gewesen. Den habe ich ziemlich früh gelesen. Den kennt inzwischen keiner mehr. In den siebziger Jahren kamen die Übersetzungen seiner Werke aus Lateinamerika. Er ist in Paris an Hunger gestorben. Er schrieb wahnsinnig tolle Gedichte. Auch die französische Moderne – Rabelais, Baudelaire und Verlaine – habe ich gelesen. Ich hatte ein kleines Reklambuch, und das habe ich immer wieder gelesen. Man weiß nie genau, aber etwas ist davon geblieben. Also habe ich nicht bloß Romantik gelesen, auch Fontane zum Beispiel, aber das ist schon das Wichtigste, diese deutsche Tradition. Auch diese Stimmung, dieses

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Diffüse. Ich bin nicht experimentell in der Art, dass ich manchmal eine Zeile habe und dann gucke, was dabei 'rauskommt. Ich habe immer am Anfang eine Art innere Vorstellung, und die versuche ich zu behaupten. Dass ich einiges immer noch umändern kann, um sie zu retten, das ist klar. Ich verstehe Maler nicht, die einfach links oben anfangen und sagen: "Das ist gelb und da gehört unten etwas dazu, was könnte das sein?" Twark: Diese Art, Kunst herzustellen, ist unbewusst. Rosenlöcher: Bei mir ist alles auch halb unbewusst. Twark: Aber ist es nicht so, dass Du das Unbewusstsein ständig arbeiten lässt? Rosenlöcher: Das könnte ich nicht. Ich könnte mich nicht hinsetzen und das erste Wort wäre "Schreibmaschine" und sagen, was kommt noch dazu? Dieses surrealistische Arbeiten heißt, dass es völlig automatisch geht. Ich muss zuerst eine Vorstellung haben. Ich muss entweder eine Stimmung haben oder ein paar Sätze, die dann das schon ausdrucken. Deswegen dauert es so lange bei mir, etwas zu schreiben, weil es nie richtig so ist, wie ich es mir vorstelle. Ich habe oft einen Schlusssatz, und auf den arbeite ich zu. Es ist anders, wenn ich einen Aufsatz schreibe. Twark: Fast alle Deiner Texte haben humoristische Stellen, oft sind sie durchweg ironisch. Wie würdest Du selbst Deine Art Humor beschreiben? Rosenlöcher: Das habe ich vorhin schon mal versucht. Ich denke wirklich nicht: "Du wirst jetzt sehr humorvoll sein. Und Du wirst jetzt den Humor suchen." Es ist oft so, wenn ich etwas beschreibe, und ich habe es auf den Punkt gebracht, dann denke ich selber, das ist eigentlich komisch. Ich lache eigentlich nie beim Schreiben. Twark: Nie beim eigenen Humor? Rosenlöcher: Nein, nie. Aber ich habe manchmal das Gefühl, wenn ich es getroffen habe, so stimmt es. Jetzt stimmt's. Dann sind das die Stellen, bei denen immer mal gelacht wird. Ich habe einfach das Gefühl, jetzt habe ich es gesagt. Deswegen mag ich sehr, wenn die Leute lachen, weil sie dann wirklich schlauer sind. Wenn die Leute lachen, dann begreifen sie mehr. Dann begreifen sie auch die ernsten Stellen. Es gibt natürlich auch ein Lachen, bei dem alles zugelacht wird. Es ist mir auch schon passiert. Es gibt manchmal Situationen bei Lesungen, in denen die Leute so lachen, dass alles weggeht, dass der ganze Text verschwindet. Die Leute lachen sich ein, dass man sich nur noch auf die Schenkel schlagen kann. Twark: Das ist für sie dann wirklich befreiend, oder? Rosenlöcher: Ja, aber es kann so weit gehen, dass sie dann zu wenig begreifen, dass sie die Zwischentöne nicht mehr mitbekommen.

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Normalerweise ist es aber so, wenn sie lachen, dann sind sie schlauer und kapieren das andere dann auch, die Zwischentöne. Das ist dann schön. Wenn die Leute sich so einlachen, dass sie nicht mehr aufhören können, dann lese ich ein paar leisere Passagen, damit sie wieder zu sich kommen können. Man muss bedenken, wenn man Leute zum Lachen bringt, ist es eine Art Machtausübung. Das habe ich irgendwo gelesen. Es ist also nicht nur gut, wenn man die Leute zum Lachen bringt. Das richtige Lachen ist nicht nur freiwillig. Es kommt ja über Dich. Ich bin dann der König in dem Moment, in dem ich die Leute zum Lachen bringe, und zu viel möchte ich nicht. Ich frage mich, ob das Lachen immer befreiend ist. Es gibt immer diesen Zwang. Twark: In dem Moment ja, aber er ist kurz und schnell wieder vorbei. Rosenlöcher: Man lacht ja auch über die eigenen Unvollkommenheiten. Twark: Was ist der Ursprung dieses Humors? Rosenlöcher: Meinen Humor kann ich schwer erläutern. Selbst wenn ich davon eine Ahnung habe, wird das ziemlich schwer festzulegen. Wenn ich jetzt hier rede, meine Sachen lese, dann bin ich ziemlich in mir ruhend. Es ist aber wirklich nicht so. Ich finde mich eher unvollkommen, als Trottel oder so. Das geht in Wirklichkeit in meinem Lebensgefühl irgendwie durch. Es hängt damit zusammen. Ich denke aber, das hat jeder Mensch. Deswegen müssen sie alle irgendwas ganz Großes werden, um sich zu beweisen, dass sie doch nicht so schlecht werden. Sie müssten dann Bundeskanzler werden, oder so was, und ewig so bleiben. Man muss ja lachen, dann kann man sich davon frei machen. Twark: Kamst Du aus einer Familie, wo die Leute alle gelacht haben? Rosenlöcher: Alle haben zu mir gesagt, dass ich früher schon ein wahnsinniger Lacher war, in der Schule auch. Twark: Warst Du der Witzbold in der Schule? Rosenlöcher: Ich war nicht so sehr der Witzbold. Ich habe einfach sehr gerne gelacht. In der Kirche war ich zum Beispiel immer der große Kicherer, gerade wann es ernst wurde. Ich wollte es dann nicht, aber ich habe Lachkrämpfe gekriegt, aus denen ich gar nicht mehr herauskommen konnte. Es war mir einfach komisch, wie die Leute alle da saßen. Ich glaube nicht, dass man versuchen soll, witzig zu sein, sondern einfach ausdrucken, was man gespürt hat, oder was man sich beim Schreiben gedacht hat. Bei mir ist das dann der Punkt, an dem ich sage, dass das da zum Lachen ist. Da habe ich dann in der Beschreibung geschwindelt, aber trotzdem die Sachen so beschrieben, wie sie sind. Ich könnte kaum einen wahrscheinlichen Text schreiben, in dem ein Begräbnis ist, in dem es ein entlastendes Moment gäbe, weil ich mich ja, da ich nun gerade gestern bei

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einem Begräbnis war, selber mitbeobachte. Das ist das Groteske dabei. Wenn ich das nun schreiben würde – was ich nicht tun werde – dann wäre es das Ideale, wenn beides da wäre: Trauer, Melancholie, und etwas Humorvolles oder Komisches. Ich kann aber auch heulen und ganz sentimental werden. Um das ganz genau zu beschreiben, muss man Theorie lesen. Twark: Mathias Wedel hat in seinem mit Matthias Biskupek verfaßten Werk Streitfall Satire in den 80er Jahren geschrieben "Wer die Kulturgeschichte des Alltags im Sozialismus schreiben will, der kommt um den Witz nicht herum." Würdest Du dieser Aussage zustimmen? Rosenlöcher: Das ist klar. Das ist fast eine Binsenwahrheit. Das hängt damit zusammen: auf der einen Seite war das Schimpfen, das Meckern, was ich als das Zetern in Ostgezeter genannt habe, und was ich ja selber halb verteidige, indem es ja es ein Ventil war und auch die Diskrepanz zur Welt wachhielt. Es drückt aus: "Ich bin nicht zufrieden, wo ich lebe." Es war auch ein Ventil insofern: wenn man meckerte, konnte man eher damit umgehen, dass man da lebt. Die andere Seite, dass war wirklich der Witz, dass man Witze machte. Nicht nur diese festen Witze, die dann tradiert wurden, sondern auch sich lustig machte. Bei meinem Freund Uwe Kolbe gibt es ein Gedicht, das heißt "Lachen wir sie kaputt." Das war ein deklamatorisches Gedicht. Es lachte selber nicht, sondern es formulierte diese Idee als Manifest. Das war wirklich eine Haltung, die eine Gültigkeit hatte. Lachen wir sie kaputt. Man hat immer einfach über die gelacht. Es gab die vielen Kleinbürger, die das gesagt haben, was ich heute gar nicht so unbedeutend finde: "Lass sie nur machen, die Rindviecher." Aber es gab auch die Leute, die sich lustig gemacht haben. Twark: Die aktiver waren, also weniger passiv. Rosenlöcher: Ja, die waren aktiver. Twark: Lachen ist etwas aktives, finde ich. Rosenlöcher: Ja. Es hat eine Funktion. Das ist klar. Twark: Der Literaturwissenschaftler Wolfgang Ertl hat einen Artikel über Deine Harzreise geschrieben, in dem er behauptet hat, das Lachen darin wäre ein "ein trotz alledem befreiendes Lachen in schwerer Zeit." Dieses Wort "trotz" am Anfang finde ich bedeutend. Rosenlöcher: Ja, etwas ist daran. In der Situation, in der ich mich befand, fühlte ich mich nicht wohl. Twark: Siehst Du dieses "trotz" als etwas aktives, nicht als Reaktion, sondern als Angriff? Rosenlöcher: Ein bisschen schon. Das spielt schon eine Rolle. Aber auch gegenüber sich selber. Es gibt diese Mischung. Gleichzeitig sich selber

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nicht ganz wohl zu fühlen – Heine kann einem in dem Moment durchgehen, als junger Mann, und alles fliegt ihm zu. Der Durchgehende ist eher so ein Typ, der schon Geschichte hinter sich hat, und denkt, er hat Recht. Er hat die Poesie auf seiner Seite. Und derjenige, der durchgeht, er hat schon Geschichte hinter sich und muss sich damit auseinandersetzen, und versucht natürlich auch ein bisschen, seine Klischées auf die anderen zu wenden, um dadurch Abstand zu gewinnen und sich selber zu behaupten. Und gleichzeitig sich selber als komisch zu empfinden, so wie er halt ist. Es ist so eine Art Befreiungsversuch aber auch eine Art Behauptungsversuch. Deswegen ist das "trotz" nicht ganz falsch. Er behauptet: "Ich bin dahergekommen, und das alles will ich nicht vergessen." Deswegen wird alles halb ironisch erzählt. Es gibt eine kurze Passage, die sagt: "Alles war nicht schlecht." Dann gibt es die Uhr, die noch in der DDR gemacht worden ist. Die versucht er immer loszuwerden, aber egal wie oft er es versucht, wird er sie nicht los. Das ist so eine Erfahrung. Am Anfang der Wende dachte ich schon, wenn jetzt der Westen kommt, ist es doch ganz gut, dass mit uns alles gut gehen würde. Ich bin noch jung genug. Ich komme jetzt noch rechtzeitig. Die anderen haben Pech gehabt. Sie sind in der DDR alt geworden. Ich komme noch rechtzeitig, als wäre ich als junger Mann nach dem Westen hinübergegangen. Ganz schnell habe ich aber gemerkt, dass es nicht so ist, dass ich immer von der DDR kommen werde. Das ist allerdings bis heute so. Selbst wenn ich jetzt nicht mehr so viel darüber schreibe. Es gibt eine Prägung, und das habe ich plötzlich gemerkt, dass man einfach nicht mehr so ganz frisch ist. Dann gibt es auch schon ein "trotz." Twark: Wedel hat auch gesagt: "Der Witz betont den Mißstand, macht ihn aber auch erträglich, weil die Kritik eben indirekt ist und zustande kommt, indem man sich sein Teil denkt. Das verschafft Genuß. Und darum ist der Witz im Moment des Lachens auch eine gute Lebenshilfe, mit dem Mißstand zu koexistieren, ohne sich mit ihm zu versöhnen." Hat Dir Deine humoristische Perspektive und Schreibweise Dir geholfen, die schweren Zeiten vor und nach der Wiedervereinigung zu bewältigen? Rosenlöcher: Das Wort "schwere" Zeit ist falsch. Es war eher eine Mischzeit. Ich habe mich auch befreit gefühlt. Genau diese Mischung wollte ich treffen, keinen tragischen Ton. Selbst wenn ich ein Stück geschrieben hätte, hätte ich kein Drama über die Wende schreiben können, wo am Ende sich alle aufhängen, sondern ich hätte wirklich eine Komödie geschrieben. Und wenn sich jemand aufgehängt hätte, wäre es vielleicht immer noch komisch gewesen. Oder auch wiederum tragisch, dass er sich aufgehängt hat. Twark: Grotesk, vielleicht.

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Rosenlöcher: Grotesk ist besser. Das mit den schweren Zeiten . . . Twark: Ich meine "schwer" indem es etwas Neues war, mit dem man konfrontiert wurde. Es ist insofern schwer, weil man so viele Eindrücke auf Einmal zu verarbeiten hat. Rosenlöcher: Ja, das stimmt. Da reagiert man dann so, indem man sich auch einteilt und Klischées benutzt und so weiter, die Ostklischées ausdrückt. Es war damals so, dass ich das Gefühl hatte, wir reden zwischen Ost und West nur in Klischées übereinander. Aber diese Klischées haben immer eine Wahrheit, und die Wahrheit ist jetzt in dieser Übergangszeit wichtig. Auch zur Selbstbehauptung. Twark: Ich habe auch eine Satiretheorie gelesen, die behauptet, gerade die Satire wird benutzt, um zwischen den Sachen Grenzen zu setzen. Rosenlöcher: Das stimmt so. Das stimmt wirklich. Was die Theoretiker über die Entlastungsfunktion des Witzes sagen, das ist klar. Aber für mich war es wichtig in der Zwischenzeit, dass wir uns beide, sowohl im Osten wie auch im Westen, komisch finden. Nicht nur Grenzen zu setzen, sondern auch zu erkennen: wir sind beide komisch, so eine Verbindung. Twark: Dass die Westdeutschen über sich selbst lachen können, diese Selbstironie, das fehlt aber in Deinen Werken. Rosenlöcher: Das habe ich nicht gewußt! Aber es stimmt natürlich nicht ganz, dass die Westdeutschen nicht über sich selbst lachen. In Lesungen funktioniert es doch manchmal. Diese eine Rezensentin von der Zeitung war fixiert. Twark: Sie ist auch nicht jeder Westdeutsche. Rosenlöcher: Ich habe eher gute Erfahrungen. Bei Lesungen im Osten werde ich oft gefragt, wie meine Texte im Westen aufgenommen werden. Wenn ich es positiv sage, dann sage ich, dass die Leute im Westen mit Texten und mit Wirklichkeit spielerischer umgehen können. Wenn ihnen da etwas komisch vorkommt, damit fängt das auch im Denken, als wenn das anders 'rum laufen würde. Im Osten nimmt man Texte viel ernster, Angriffe eventuell auch ernster. Das was ich vorhin mit der Selbstironie sagte, es ist mit der Selbstironie nicht so. Mit Angriffen kann man gut umgehen. Da ist man irgendwie daran gewöhnt. Da kann man über sich selber lachen. Aber dass man über sich selber lacht, das ist ungewöhnlicher im Westen als im Osten. Twark: Das habe ich auch gehört. Rosenlöcher: Das habe ich aus Erfahrung schon. Diese Stellen werden dort einfach nicht so schnell wahrgenommen, jedenfalls nicht immer. Dass man sich selber madig macht, das wird nicht so sehr gehört. Wenn

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sie im Text stilisiert vorkommen, damit können sie umgehen, aber sie können nicht mit sich selbst so ironisch sein. Tante B. kann mit sich selber nicht so ironisch sein, aber sie kann einen Text, worin sie selber ironisch vorkommt, inzwischen verkraften. Twark: Also sie fühlen sich selber nicht so sehr beleidigt. Rosenlöcher: Ja, und das wiederum ist bei den Ostdeutschen nicht so sehr entwickelt. Twark: Gibt es denn andere Unterschiede zwischen Ostleser und Westleser, zum Beispiel wie sie sich bei Deinen Lesungen verhalten? Findet das Publikum West und Ost die gleichen Texte gut oder lustig, oder gibt es da Unterschiede? Rosenlöcher: Das ähnelt sich sehr. Es liegt auch daran – das erzähle ich immer wenn ich im Osten danach gefragt werde – dann sage ich natürlich, die Leute, die zu Lesungen kommen, die ähneln sich besonders. Es sind im Osten wie im Westen sozial ähnliche Leute, und da ist der Unterschied gar nicht so groß. Wie gesagt, das spielerischer mit den Texten umgehen können, das ist im Westen ausgeprägter als hier. Diese ganze spielerische Art und dieser Wohlstand, die Zeitungen, Texte im allgemeinen haben nicht so viel Bedeutung wie im Osten. Das hat mit der unterschiedlichen Sozialisation zu tun. Ich kann es auch negativ ausdrucken: die im Westen nehmen nichts ernst, bei denen ist alles egal. Twark: Findest Du, dass Humor oder Satire eher distanzschaffende oder versöhnliche Mittel sind, oder vielleicht ein Gemisch von beiden? Rosenlöcher: Es kommt je darauf an, wie die Sachen gebaut sind und wie sie auch in der Tonart wechseln. Das sind schwierige Begriffe, Humor und Satire, weil sie keine starren Begriffe sind. Ein guter Text hat verschiedene Tonlagen. Ich finde die Mischung von Tonlagen ganz gut für die Behandlung von Ost und West, weil sie gleichzeitig distanzschaffend sind und eine Brücke bauen, weil man sich dabei kennenlernt. Man soll den Anderen ein bisschen ärgern, dann können beide darüber lachen. Dann schafft man eine Art Wiedervereinigung, ohne dass man gleich werden müsste. Twark: Immanuel Kant hat gesagt, der Humor kommt aus der plötzlichen Verwandlung einer gespannten Erwartung in nichts. Meinst Du, dass der Humor nach der Wende aus diesen geplatzten Erwartungen hervorgekommen sein könnte? Rosenlöcher: Das ist etwas global ausgedrückt. Bei mir war das nicht der Fall gewesen. Ich habe nie so eine große Enttäuschung gehabt. Bei einigen Sachen war ich schon enttäuscht. Die Konkurrenz ist größer geworden und es scheint, als ob alles nur über Beziehungen läuft. Dieser [CDU]

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Skandal, der jetzt gerade läuft, zum Beispiel. Ich weiß schon, dass das durch die ganze Gesellschaft hindurchgeht. Wenn ich als Handwerker einen Auftrag haben möchte, dann geht es nicht nur darum, dass ich der billigste bin, sondern ob ich schon mit dem Mann richtig geredet habe oder nicht und dem etwas gegeben habe. Es wundert mich manchmal, dass diese Gesellschaft so ähnlich ist wie die alte, aber das ist mehr so ein Wundern. Ich habe nie eine richtige Enttäuschung erlebt. Deswegen gilt für mich der Begriff "schwere Zeit" nicht. Es war nur eine Zeit der Orientierung und des Drucks. Man fragt sich, was ist denn das hier? Twark: Druck? Rosenlöcher: Ja, Druck, sich zu orientieren. Wer bin ich? Werde ich nun alles verlieren? Meine Freunde denken jetzt auch alle anders. Früher haben sie alle gleich gedacht. Das spielt für mich eine große Rolle. Twark: Jetzt denken alle Deiner Freunde anders? Das ist interessant. Rosenlöcher: Das finde ich auch gut. Deswegen kann ich das kaum eine "schwere Zeit" nennen. Man überlegt sich, was habe ich früher gedacht? Man muss an die Vergangenheit denken und sich überlegen, wie komme ich hier zurecht? Man muss denken, was wird hier draus? Diese drei Denkformen waren viel. Jetzt denkt man mehr an die Gegenwart. Es ist also nicht mehr so spannend. Twark: Ich kenne Leute, die auch Krisen erlebt haben. Rosenlöcher: Ja, ich bin auch nicht alle. Manche haben es wirklich viel schwerer. Meine Generation ist auch beknackt dran. Sie sind dann zu den Demonstrationen gegangen, nicht nur weil sie das Westgeld haben wollten, sondern weil sie einfach richtig arbeiten wollten. Es soll sich ja lohnen. Alles ist natürlich nicht gekommen, wie sie dachten. Sie haben ja das Westgeld, aber dass das nun klappt mit arbeiten, dass sie etwas schaffen und sie "wer" sind, dass sie das sozial schaffen, das hat nicht so geklappt, wie sie wollten. Bloß zu denen gehöre ich gar nicht. Twark: Aber Du hattest nicht das Problem mit der plötzlichen Arbeitslosigkeit und so weiter. Rosenlöcher: Viele anderen Schriftsteller in Dresden hatten größere Probleme. Sie hatten keinen Verlag mehr gehabt. Ich bin sozusagen nach oben gefallen. Von dem Mitteldeutschen Verlag zu Suhrkamp. Twark: Ja, das ist schon ein Sprung. Das ist ja wunderbar. Rosenlöcher: Das hat sich ja halt so ergeben. Twark: Wie ist das denn eigentlich passiert? Rosenlöcher: Ich habe irgendwo aus dem Tagebuch gelesen, und da war der junge Unseld da. Er hat da halt angebissen.

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Twark: Das Schöne an dem Suhrkamp Verlag ist ja auch, dass die Bücher immer noch gedruckt werden. Sie sind nicht vergriffen. Rosenlöcher: Vor allen Dingen drucken sie auch noch Gedichte. Wenn ich beim Aufbau wäre, würden sie kaum noch Gedichte drucken. Twark: Was für eine Wirkung hat der Ruhm auf Ihr inneres oder äußeres Leben? Rosenlöcher: Wenn man schreibt und wieder vor dem weißen Papier sitzt und dann geht es nicht weiter, ist man gar nicht berühmt. Das ist fast durchgehend, das Gefühl. Twark: So bleibt man bescheiden. Rosenlöcher: Das ist ja eigentlich jeden Tag. Wenn ich aber Lesungen mache, dann schreibe ich wenig, weil ich dann satt bin. Es gibt aber auch dieses ewige Zurückgesetztfühlen von Lyrikern, was auch tödlich sein kann. Wenn man merkt, dass von einem ein paar Gedichte gelesen werden, dann ist es auch ganz gut. Direkt Ruhm ist viel zu groß gesagt. Das Wahrgenommenwerden ist eher angenehm, wenn man nicht in die Situation kommt, sich immer zu verkaufen. Twark: Das wurde bei Thomas Brussig ein Problem, glaube ich. Rosenlöcher: Ich habe also doch ein Zurücksetzungsgefühl manchmal gehabt. Das ist eine Art Lyrikerkrankheit. Ich kenne ganz viele Dichter, die nichts anderes mehr denken. Sarah Kirsch zum Beispiel, die berühmter als ich ist. Das ist bei Lyrikern ganz verbreitet. Es ist eine Berufskrankheit, die irgendwann beim Arzt behandlungswürdig wäre. Es ist direkt eine psychische Macke. Wenn ich das verspüre, ist es nicht produktiv. Es hilft beim Schreiben wenig. Da wird man dann hypochondrisch, nicht locker genug beim Schreiben, wie verkrampft. Twark: Also muss man sich beachtet fühlen, um schreiben zu können? Rosenlöcher: Man muss ein bisschen Achtung haben. Wenn ich Lesungen halte zum Beispiel, lese ich immer mindestens ein Drittel Gedichte, um die Leute zu zwingen, sich Gedichte anzuhören. Als ich einen Dichterpreis bekommen habe, hat das mich eher locker gemacht. In dem Moment habe ich das Gefühl gehabt, Du kannst doch weiterschreiben. Zu viel ist aber auch nicht gut. Es darf nicht so sein, dass mich jemand anruft oder so was. Es kann helfen aber auch zerstören. Aber so berühmt bin ich nicht, dass es gefährlich wäre. Twark: Meinst Du, dass eine humoristische oder satirische Sichtweise Deinen Lesern die Zeit vor und nach der Wende erleichtert haben könnte?

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Rosenlöcher: Man hat das mal geschrieben und da war ich halt verblüfft. Es gibt eine Magisterarbeit, die ich ziemlich klug finde. Die Autorin hat geschrieben, der Humor habe einen therapeutischen Effekt, dass die Leute über sich lachen könnten und gleichzeitig etwas über sich erfahren. Bei Lesungen merke ich das immer bei dieser Bananengeschichte [aus Ostgezeter]. Ich befürchte, die werde ich den Leuten bis an mein Lebensende vorlesen müssen. Manchmal lache ich schon nicht mehr darüber. Alle wollen immer diese Geschichte hören. Aber die ist vielleicht ein prägnantes Beispiel für diesen Vorgang. Die Zuschauer finden sich dann komisch und gleichzeitig begreifen sie, wie sie gelebt haben und diese [westdeutschen] Pakete gelauert haben. Sie wollen nochmal ihren Traum hören. Das war die Wahrheit. Sie haben gar nicht so sehr an den Sozialismus geglaubt, sondern an den Westen. Das war ja ihre Utopie, und sie vermischt sich manchmal mit dem Sozialismus. Insofern kann es schon so was geben, aber es ist nicht so bewusst. Beim Schreiben bin ich aber eigentlich mit mir selber umgegangen. Twark: Aber Du merkst schon bei Lesungen, dass die Leute sich wohlfühlen und dass Dein Humor eine Art Auslösungseffekt hat. Rosenlöcher: Es ist nicht nur, dass es diese berühmte, verschmähte Nostalgie gibt, dass man sagt, es war früher schön, sondern es war früher eher komisch. Aber so war es halt. Man sieht sich plötzlich wieder wie die Fliege im Bernstein. Aber es ist eine komische Fliege. Man mag es auch ein bisschen. Das kommt ja, weil ich selber dabei gewesen bin. Es ist nicht bewusst geplant. Twark: Hat sich Deine Sprache seit der Wende verändert? Rosenlöcher: Es mag manchmal eine Befreiung gegeben haben. Ich gehöre eigentlich wiederum zu einer gemischten Interpretation. Der Osten, die Diktatur, hat die Literatur zum Beispiel gefördert, indem man unter Druck war, zu schreiben. In den achtziger Jahren habe ich meine Schneebier Gedichte zum Beispiel unter ziemlichen Druck geschrieben, besonders die Engelsgedichte. Ich hatte das Gefühl, es wird bald krachen. So komisch wie das jetzt klingt, diese Angst hat etwas hervorgebracht. Insofern war auch dieses Gefühl gegen etwas anzuschreiben. Es ist wichtig, dass ich das jetzt tue. Selbst wenn ich kein Dissident war. Trotzdem war das immer wie eine Art Widerstand. Bei dem Wort "grün" war das für mich eine Art Widerstand. Es gab keine Grünen in der DDR. Das hatte also immer eine bestimmte Bedeutung. Insofern war es fast leichter, damals zu schreiben. Trotzdem gibt es eine Art Befreiung. Bestimmte Dinge sind mir damals gar nicht eingefallen. Auch mich so in die Verhältnisse einzumischen. Es ist mir damals in dem Maße gar nicht eingefallen. Ich hätte es schon machen können. Dann wäre ich schon

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längst aus der DDR 'rausgeflogen, in den achtziger Jahren, wenn ich versucht hätte, es so direkt anzupacken wie in diesen Aufsätzen [Ostgezeter]. Insofern hat die Wende eine Befreiung gebracht. Ich konnte mich plötzlich äußern. Auch mündlich. 1986 bin ich zum ersten Mal in Amsterdam gewesen und musste ein Interview für den Rundfunk geben. Es waren Westdeutsche auch da. Da hatte ich große Mühe, mich überhaupt zu formulieren, natürlich zu sein. Mit der Zeit habe ich das wirklich gelernt. Dass man sich einfach öffnen muss, und das 'rauslassen, was kommt. Twark: Deswegen vielleicht Prosa statt Gedichte? Rosenlöcher: Das liegt daran, dass es damals so viele Einzelheiten gab. Die vielen Einzelheiten gingen nur durch so eine reflektorische Prosa über. Twark: Ich finde Deinen Ostgezeter Text einen der offensten Texte, den ich gelesen habe. Es zeigt ganz konkret, was in einem Menschen in einer gewissen Situation vorgeht. Dich brauchte ich fast gar nicht interviewen, weil alles in dem Buch steht! Diese humoristischen Sachen wollte ich nur noch mit Dir unbedingt besprechen. Bestimmte Fragen, die ich hatte, konnte ich aber gar nicht stellen, weil sie in dem Text schon beantwortet waren. Rosenlöcher: Dazu weiß ich gar nichts zu sagen. Twark: Schreibst Du anders als vorher? Hat sich Deine Schreibmotivation seit 1989 verändert? Rosenlöcher: Ja, also der Druck hat sich verringert. Gleichzeitig vergrößerte sich die Freiheit, sich zu äußern. Mein dritter Gedichtband [Die Dresdner Kunstausübung] hat, finde ich, schon gute Gedichte, aber das Existentielle war vorher stärker. Insofern ist so was zurückgegangen. Es ist schwerer jetzt, Gedichte zu schreiben, mit dem Gefühl, dass sie nicht gebraucht werden, und so weiter. Es spielt doch unterschwellig eine Rolle, ob der Druck bei diesen Dingen da ist oder nicht. Gleichzeitig ist es schön, dieses unbegrenzte Sagenkönnen, alles aus sich 'rausholen, ohne dass ein Tabu sich aufrichtet, und dass es beißt! Twark: Gibt es denn bei Dir heute Tabus? Rosenlöcher: Damals hat es doch welche gegeben. Ich habe immer gedacht, nicht, aber damals hat es welche gegeben. Es gab richtige Grenzen. Ich konnte zum Beispiel nicht sagen: "Ich lebe in einem Land, wo Schweine regieren." So was wäre mir gar nicht eingefallen. Heute ist es anders. Heute sind die Grenzen durch meine Fähigkeit, irgendwas auszudrücken, gesetzt.

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Twark: Aber muss die Qualität höher sein? Auf einer anderen Art höher? Vielleicht in der künstlerischen Qualität und weniger in der Verschlüsselungsqualität? Rosenlöcher: Mit der Verschlüsselung, das ist so ein Ding. Ich kenne fast niemanden, eigentlich niemanden von Qualität, der sich hingesetzt hat, und gedacht hat, das muss ich nun mal so sagen. So kriege ich es vielleicht durch. Wer das gemacht hat, war verräterisch. Das darf man als Autor nicht. Es war alles nach den Möglichkeiten gesagt. Als ich die Geschichte mit den langen Beinen geschreiben habe, war das meine Möglichkeit, das auszudrücken, dass ich dieses Land mag, und doch eigentlich 'raus will. Es ist eine Mischung. Das war alles, was ich sagen wollte. Mehr war nicht zu sagen. Heute ist es wirklich schwerer geworden. Trotzdem hat man eine Sehnsucht nach der Schönheit. Es bleibt immer alles und das Leben wird kürzer. Die existentiellen Dinge passen dann nicht richtig damit zusammen. Früher habe ich eher gesellschaftlich geschrieben, heute schreibe ich mehr existentiell. Das sieht sehr wie Rückzug aus. Aber ein bisschen so ist es schon, einfach weil ich älter werde. Es ist für mich jetzt wichtiger, aus dem Fenster zu gucken, und zu sehen, wie der Fensterrahmen sich vergoldet. Die Freiheit aber, das zu tun, was ich will, das ist schon auch schön. Twark: Jetzt, wo die DDR nicht mehr existiert, gibt es die Chance, als Autor und Mensch auf Deine Vergangenheit zurückzuschauen, und das tust Du auch ausführlich in Deinen Texten, Interviews und bei Lesungen. Denkst Du, dass Du dieses Thema jemals abschließen kannst, oder wird es immer in Deinen künftigen Texten eine Rolle spielen? Rosenlöcher: Also die vierzig Jahre DDR sind das Prägende gewesen. Insofern wird es immer eine Rolle spielen. Ich hoffe, dass ich nochmal einen Bogen schaffe, wie auch immer. Jetzt habe ich zum Beispiel ein Kindheitsgedicht geschrieben, das in die Gegenwart reicht. Es ist mir jetzt wichtig, dass ich einen Bogen schaffe zu allem, was ich bisher erlebt habe. Vergehende Zeite möchte ich zeigen, aber auch die Unterschiede und die Gleichzeitigkeit. Es ist natürlich so: es hat sich alles geändert, und es hat sich nichts geändert. Dieses Beides packen will ich. Insofern wird es eine Rolle spielen, aber nicht nur. Es ist für mich jetzt wichtig, dass ich irgendwo ankomme. Ich habe diese Typen in der Schule immer gehasst, die von 1945 und der schweren Hungernszeit immer geredet haben. Die habe ich immer gehasst, weil sie behauptet haben, wir haben es so gut, und weil sie immer nur von Damals erzählt haben. Irgendwie hat sich die Welt ohnehin verändert. Twark: Du benutzt oft religiöse Motive in Deinen Werken. Sankt Ernst ist der Freund des Erzählers in der Harzreise, Engel erscheinen in Deinen

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Gedichten, diverse Bibelgeschichten tauchen an verschiedenen Stellen auf. Der Literaturwissenschaftler Theo Mechtenberg hat in einem Artikel mit dem Titel "Thomas Rosenlöcher – Ein Dichter, dem 'Das Wenige viel und das Geringe groß ist'" über dieses Thema geschrieben: "Was manchem als ein zu unernster Umgang mit religiösen Metaphern erscheinen mag, ist mehr als ein bloß witziges Spiel mit einem verfremdeten religiösen Wortmaterial. Denn diese Entfremdung hat ihren Sinn darin, den Zwiespalt religiöser und weltlicher Erfahrung offenzulegen indem das religiöse – und andernorts auch biblische – Motiv aus seinem ursprünglichen Kontext gelöst und mit einer gegenläufigen Realitätserfahrung konfrontiert wird, wobei – wie im vorliegenden Fall [im Gedicht "Der Schutzengel"] – die im kindlichen Schutzengelgebet enthaltene Geborgenheit als Illusion aufgedeckt, doch mit ihrem Verlust auch ein Element der Sehnsucht bewahrt wird." Würdest Du dieser Interpretation zustimmen, und kannst Du sonst etwas über die Verwendung von religiösen Motiven in Deinen Werken sagen? Rosenlöcher: Ich finde das ziemlich schlau, was der Professor gesagt hat. Das ist nicht immer so bewusst. Ich kann das biographisch vielleicht erzählen. Ich bin als Kind sehr gläubig gewesen. Ich bin fleißig zu Religionsunterricht gegangen. Zwischendurch habe ich eine ganz atheistische Phase gehabt. Gerade diese Spaltung hat das hervorgebracht. Das beschreibt er ja hier. Ich hatte den Eindruck, dass die Welt zu schwer über einen geht. Ich würde schon gern glauben. Inzwischen meine ich sogar, man muss sogar glauben, wenn man nicht glaubt. Bei mir ist es inzwischen ganz kompliziert geworden. Inzwischen ist diese atheistische Phase bei mir schon wieder vorbei. Dass ich in diesen Bildern denke, ist eine Tatsache. Das ist für mich eigentlich das Wichtigste. Das ist das hauptsächliche Bildungserlebnis, das ich überhaupt hatte. Twark: Die Kirche und die Bibel. Rosenlöcher: Ja, und dass das in den Gedichten wieder hochkommt, das ist halt so. Für mich sind das wichtige Bilder, an denen ich zweifle und die ich brauche. Das beschreibt es aber ziemlich genau. Das Disparate ist für mich das Wichtige. Es gibt ein Gedicht, das "Der Dornbusch" heißt. Plötzlich kommt einer und sieht einen Dornbusch blühen oder in Flammen und er sagt, "Wieso gerade ich, ich glaube ja gar nicht an Dich." Das existiert schon bis heute so, diese Spannung. Das ist wie bei der Utopie. Ich denke, dass man eine Utopie doch braucht, um aufzustehen und zu gehen. Dass man diese Dimension einer anderen Welt braucht, sei es im Jenseits oder wo auch immer, um wenigstens das Geringste zu machen. Für mich sind diese Dinge alle unverzichtbar komisch, weil ich

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schon gar nicht mehr trenne, was von dieser Utopie kommt und was von meiner kirchlichen Erziehung. Twark: Die Erziehung war aber evangelisch, oder? Rosenlöcher: Ja. Twark: Aber waren Deine Eltern auch so religiös? Rosenlöcher: Gar nicht so sehr. Sie haben mich halt regelmäßig als Kind in die Kirche geschickt. Sie mochten es, wenn ich zum Kindergottesdienst ging. Mich haben immer die Geschichten interessiert. Mich haben sie immer als Geheimnisse berührt. Eine hat mich besonders beeindruckt, die aber fürchterlich ist. Heute könnte ich das alles deuten. Das ist diese Geschichte von Abraham, in dem er seinen Sohn Isaak opfern soll. Dann kommt die Stimme und sagt: "Du brauchst ihn nicht opfern. Ich habe Dich nur auf die Probe gestellt, ob Du wirklich gläubig bist." Das hat mich als Kind beeindruckt. Ich habe gedacht, wenn Gott allwissend ist, warum macht er solchen Quatsch. Heute weiß ich, dass das eine historische Geschichte ist. Das ist die Ablösung des Menschen vom Menschenopfer. Das brachte mich ins Zweifeln. Ich dachte, gibt es dann diesen Gott? Wenn er solche Versuche machen muss, diese putzigen Experimente mit seinen Leuten, da ist etwas faul. Der Zweifel wurde mir als Kind dann ganz stark. Als Kind war das immer noch ein Geheimnis. Heute ist alles viel aufgeklärter. Twark: Vielen Dank für das Gespräch.

Appendix 4 Interview with Jens Sparschuh Berlin, 31 January 2000 Twark: Ihre Doktorarbeit, 1983 an der Humboldt-Universität vorgelegt, trägt den für Nicht- Philosophen rätselhaften, beinahe absurd klingenden Titel "Erkenntnistheoretisch-methodologische Untersuchungen zur heuristischen Ausdrucksfähigkeit aussagenlogischer Beweisbegriffe." Ich möchte wissen, ob Sie mir vielleicht in Laientermini erklären können, was das für eine Doktorarbeit war und worum es darin ging? Sparschuh: Darin ging es unter anderem um Charles Sanders Peirce, den großen amerikanischen Philosophen. Er taucht im zweiten Teil auf. Es geht in der Arbeit darum, was ich während meines fünf-jährigen Studiums in Leningrad gelernt habe, umzusetzen, nämlich logische Verfahren und kreatives und intuitives Denken miteinander in Beziehung zu bringen. Es gibt zum Beispiel in Leningrad – St. Petersburg – den Philosophen Serebrjannikow, der die Aussagenlogik untersucht hat. Es läuft darauf hinaus, dass man etwas versucht, was man normalerweise in der Mathematik nur mit großen Schwierigkeiten vollbringen kann, nämlich Intuitionsprozesse mit exakten Verfahren zu untersetzen. Man soll solche Prozesse durch heuristische Verfahren genau analysieren können. Twark: Was sind heuristische Verfahren? Sparschuh: Verfahren, die den Aufwand zur Lösung eines Problems minimieren. Das heuristische Verfahren ist ein Verfahren, das mir hilft, wenn ich einen Suchraum von hundert Feldern habe, diese vielleicht auf dreißig einzuschränken. Das wäre ein heuristisches Verfahren. Dann ist ja die Chance, die Lösung zu finden, entsprechend größer. Es gibt verschiedene heuristische Verfahren, die in diese mit 100% Wahrscheinlichkeit operierende Logik einzubauen sind. Schließlich lassen sich dann Beweisverfahren mit heuristischer Unterstützung entwickeln, die uns helfen, auch vor einem ganz komplizierten Beweis nicht haltzumachen, sondern den Beweis machen zu können, indem man zum Beispiel nicht von A nach Z läuft, sondern von Z nach A. Also, wenn ich zum Beispiel eine Formel beweisen will, dann läuft es normalerweise so, dass man aus Axiomen, die in dem System gegeben sind, herleitet, ein sehr

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kompliziertes Verfahren. Viel einfacher ist es, wenn man die Formel, die zu beweisen ist, an den Anfang stellt und in lauter Teilformeln zerlegt. Wenn man sie so zerlegen kann, dass alle Bestandteile der Formel auf Gleichungen hinauslaufen wie A=A, B=B und Z=Z und das restlos aufgeht, dann ist das vielleicht auch ein Beweis für die Formel. Das ist eine ganz spannende Frage, die aber in der modernen Computertechnik und bei maschinellen Rechnungen immer wieder zum Einsatz kommt. Twark: Wie bei der Spieltheorie oder Chaostheorie? Sparschuh: In all diesen modernen Theorien kann man solche Prozesse anwenden. Das, was philosophisch am interessantesten dabei ist, das ist der Grundgedanke, dass analytisches und synthetisches, strenges und kreatives Denken miteinander kommunizieren können, und dass das nicht zwei voneinander abgetrennte paradigmatische Welten sind. Bei Hermann Hesse in Narziß und Goldmund stehen sich zwei Welten gegenüber, die gar nichts miteinander gemein haben. Hier könnte man auf den Gedanken kommen, dass es eine Welt gibt, die beide Seiten hat. Twark: Alle längeren Texte von Ihnen haben Ich-Erzähler, die sich nach etwas erkundigen oder etwas suchen. Ich möchte wissen, ob das vielleicht von Ihrem Philosophiestudium oder Ihrer philosophischen Art, die Welt zu sehen, herkommt. Sparschuh: Darüber könnte man lange rätseln. Ich bin überhaupt nicht der Meinung, dass der Autor und seine Ich-Erzähler hundertprozentig identisch sind, und dass man Rückschlüsse machen kann. Aber es kann sein, dass es eine Grundirritation als Ansporn gibt, und der Mensch oder der Ich-Erzähler macht sich auf die Suche nach irgendeiner Problemlösung. Twark: Während ich Ihr neuestes Buch, Lavaters Maske, gelesen habe, habe ich bemerkt, dass der unbenannte Ich-Erzähler dem Hinrich Lobek aus Der Zimmerspringbrunnen sehr ähnelt. Beide sind ambivalente Persönlichkeiten, ehrgeizige Verlierer, die trotz allem weiterkämpfen. Beide werden mit Ironie gezeichnet. Sie hoffen auf Erfolg, scheitern aber teilweise, weil sie große Kommunikationsprobleme haben. Beide haben aktive Imaginationen und machen sich etwas vor. Beide führen Protokolle: Hinrich Lobek über seine Frau Julia, der Schriftsteller und Drehbuchautor über Lavater und seinen Schreiber Enslin. Gibt es Gründe, warum sie diese Art Figur in Ihren Erzählungen bevorzugt haben? Sparschuh: Der Ich-Erzähler hat für mich folgenden Reiz: man kann mit einer Art von Authentizität spielen. Den Ich-Erzähler aus Lavaters Maske, den stattete ich ja nun fast liebevoll mit Details aus, zum Beispiel aus einem Roman von Goethe, und das sind natürlich alles Spuren, die in die

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Irre führen sollen. Das soll einen Schein von Authentizität erwecken und es ist natürlich Spiel und Maskerade. Der Typ ist so interessant, weil ich in solchen gebrochenen Charakteren am ehesten etwas von dem wiederfinde, was die Welt nun wirklich im Innersten zusammenhält. Von diesen Widersprüchen, von den sehr verschiedenen Seiten, die die Welt hat. Sie haben Pläne, wie wir alle Pläne haben. Sie scheitern, wie wir auch oft scheitern und das, was für mich große Literatur auszeichnet, sind eben tatsächlich Gestalten, die komisch und tragisch zugleich sind. Deswegen ist es wahrscheinlich am ehesten so ein Typ von Figur, der mir beschreibenswert erscheint. Die reinen Heldengestalten langweilen mich. Die reinen Trauerklöße sind unerträglich langweilig für mich. Es ist genau diese Mischung, die mich interessiert. Twark: In Lavaters Maske haben Sie direkte Anspielungen auf Uwe Timms Johannisnacht und Die Entdeckung der Currywurst eingebaut. Auch vor diesen direkten Anspielungen kam mir die Ausgangssituation des Romans sehr ähnlich wie in Johannisnacht vor, zum Beispiel bekommt der Autor einen Auftrag und reist, um zu forschen. Was für andere Vorbilder hat es für Lavaters Maske oder den Zimmerspringbrunnen gegeben? Sparschuh: Ach, Vorbilder. Das ist natürlich ein Genre, eine Art von Literatur, wie man sie ganz oft vorfindet, zum Beispiel im amerikanischen Film: jemand bekommt einen Anruf und ist ein investigativer Journalist, und macht sich auf die Suche und entdeckt etwas ganz anderes als erwartet. Das gibt es oft. Dass ich Uwe Timm hier einbauen konnte, hing einfach damit zusammen, dass mir klar war, bevor Johannisnacht erschienen ist, dass in so einem Lavater Buch, etwas mit Frisör und dann Schönheitsinstitut und einem solchen Typberatungsinstitut vorkommen musste. Dann erschien das Buch von Uwe Timm, mit dem ich sehr gut befreundet bin. Es war einfach eine schöne Gelegenheit, ihn da zu erwähnen und ihn da mit einzubauen. Wenn Sie mich nach Vorbildern fragen, das ist ganz schwer zu beantworten. Twark: Also ist es einfach aus Ihnen herausgekommen. Es war einfach eine Idee und ist nicht festzulegen auf konkrete Vorbilder. Das ist legitim. Sparschuh: Vorbilder gibt es überhaupt nicht. Für mein Schreiben ist es wichtig, dass all die Bücher am Anfang eine kurze Idee haben, einen Plot zum Beispiel. Eigentlich wollte ich die Bücher alle zunächst als Hörspiel verfassen. Der Schneemensch und Der Zimmerspringbrunnen sind zwei Beispiele. Zu Grunde lag immer eine Geschichte, die ich dachte, in 45 Minuten schreiben zu können. Das ist, und der Vergleich ist ja überhaupt nicht vermessen, so ähnlich wie bei Thomas Mann, der auch dachte, den Zauberberg als eine kleine flüchtige Novelle zu Papier zu bringen. Das ist aber interessant für die Konsistenz des Ganzen, dass es eine Geschichte

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gibt im Kern, die vielleicht so eine 45 Minute Handlung hat, und dass die aber mit Vorgeschichte, Höhepunkt und dem Rest der Geschichte tatsächlich dann zu einem Großen anwächst. Für eine gewisse erzählerische Dichte und Konsequenz scheint mir dieses "Aus-dem-Kerneiner-kurzen-Geschichte-kommen" gar nicht so verkehrt zu sein. Twark: Daran anknüpfend wollte ich wissen, wie Sie auf dieses Motiv von dem Zimmerspringbrunnen im Zimmerspringbrunnen gekommen sind. Sparschuh: Also es gab, und gibt bis heute, in irgendwelchen Zeitungen Werbung von einer Firma aus Niedersachsen, die solche Geräte vertreibt. Ich habe auch mal für 14 Tage einen Job an der Pädagogischen Hochschule in Freiburg gearbeitet und war in einem Hotel untergebracht, wo viele Außendienstvertreter untergebracht waren. Ich unterhielt mich mit ihnen, und bekam ein bisschen von dem Elend dieses Berufsstandes mit. Da ich selbst auch so eine Art Vertreter meiner Bücher war, hatte ich den Blick eines Mitbetroffenen, weil ich genauso morgens zur Arbeit eilte und abends müde zum Hotel kam. Wir beklagten uns über den furchtbaren Zustand der Welt. Unsere Erfahrungen waren ganz identisch. Ich wollte danach ein Hörspiel schreiben, in dem jemand sich rüstet für seine Arbeit, morgens vor dem Spiegel steht und beim Gurgeln laut artikuliert, und dann wurde es eben ein Buch. Twark: In einer etwas bösen Rezension der Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitung vom 15. November 1999 hat Ernst Osterkamp über Lavaters Maske geschrieben: "Dieser Roman, dessen zentrales Thema die Physiognomie ist, verzichtet auf die Beschreibung von Gesichtern." Wie würden Sie diese Kritik erwidern? Sparschuh: Überhaupt nicht. Der hat genau gelesen. Es wäre albern in einem Buch, das von Physiognomie handelt, so zu tun, als würde man jetzt gefordert sein, lauter Gesichter zu beschreiben. Es geht ja nicht nur um das 18. Jahrhundert und diese alberne Gesichtserforscherei, sondern um Gesichtsverlust. Deswegen hat er es schon richtig verstanden, aber vielleicht nicht die richtigen Schlüsse daraus gezogen. Also, das ist durchaus mit Absicht. Twark: Das dachte ich mir auch, als ich es gelesen habe. Es geht um die Gesichter und die fehlen gerade. Sparschuh: Das ist eben das Problem. Rezensenten haben ihre Vorstellung von der Welt und manche verstehen die einfachsten handwerklichen Sachen nicht, die jedem, der so ein Buch schreibt, klar sind, nämlich dass man, wenn es um Gesichter geht, diese natürlich aussparen muss, um einen Druck und Sog zu erzeugen.

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Twark: Im neunten Kapitel von Lavaters Maske gibt es einen deutlichen Hinweis auf die DDR-Vergangenheit des Erzählers. Das habe ich nicht verstanden. Bis dahin schien es mir, als ob Sie die Nachwende/DDRThematik völlig hinter sich gelassen hätten. Warum greifen Sie das Thema dann doch wieder auf, indem Sie den Erzähler in einem westdeutschen Kontext unter den vermutlich typischen Fragen der typischen Westdeutschen leiden lassen? Sparschuh: Es gibt einen ganz kleinen Hinweis, wo in der Bahn von "Plastebeutel" gesprochen wird. Dieser Ostbegriff, der unterscheidet sich von dem westdeutschen. Ostdeutsch war "Plastebeutel," im Westen hieß es "Plastikbeutel." Also ein ganz kleines Signal wird hier gesetzt. Ich habe mir überlegt, ob ich das mache oder nicht, und so wie es hier erscheint, glaube ich, kann sich diese deutsch-deutsche Frage tatsächlich repräsentativ darstellen. Es ist ein ganz normales Leben und es gibt manchmal einen Punkt, wo man plötzlich merkt, "Aha, da kommt jemand aus einer anderen Ecke der Welt." Und das wird dann auch gar nicht wieder aufgenommen. Es ist punktuell. So ein kleiner Punktschmerz und eine kleine Punkterinnerung, die uns wieder sagt, "ach, der kommt von dort." Dass das im weiteren auch folgenlos bleibt, scheint mir ganz wichtig zu sein. Man muss jetzt nun nicht so einen tiefen Innenkulturkonflikt Ost-West, der sozusagen jede Einzelheit des Lebens ergreift, darstellen, sondern es ist eine andere Herkunft, die sich an einem bestimmten Punkt offenbart, und dann ist es auch wieder vorbei. Das ist ein Teil der Biographie, aber eben nur ein Teil und nicht die ganze. Das schien mir irgendwie ganz angemessen zu sein. Twark: Denken Sie, dass Sie sich weiter mit diesem Thema beschäftigen werden oder ist es für Sie abgeschlossen? Sparschuh: Nein. Das ist gar nicht abgeschlossen. Ich werde mich damit natürlich wieder sehr dezidiert beschäftigen. Was an dem Buch tatsächlich auf die Ostherkunft verweist, das hat mir ein Leser gesagt. Es hat natürlich etwas mit Ostdeutschland zu tun, dieses Herumrätseln an Biographien und dieses immer wieder Neuschreiben eines Lebenslaufes. Es ist mir beim Schreiben gar nicht aufgefallen, wo der Held dieses Buches immer wieder neu versucht, das Verhältnis Enslin und Lavater zu ergründen. Da sagte mir ein Leser aus Rostock, genau das hätten viele DDR Leute nach '89 auch gemacht. Sie haben immer wieder ihre Biographie neu durchdacht und durchlebt, und bei ganz unterschiedlichen Anlässen versucht, zum Beispiel für die Rentenanstalt, ihre Biographie neu zu erfinden. Insofern gibt es jenseits dieser laut ausgestellten Signalstücke etwas, was durchaus mit der Geschichte der ehemaligen DDR in den

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letzten zehn Jahren verbunden ist, dieses insistierende Nachfragen, was die Biographie betrifft. Twark: Das empfand ich auch in Ihrem Buch Ich dachte, sie finden uns nicht. Das war ein schöner Versuch einer Autobiographie. Auch Thomas Rosenlöcher hat in Ostgezeter autobiographische Züge herausgearbeitet. In Lavaters Maske machen Sie sich sehr über das Lesepublikum Ihres Erzählers lustig. Ich fühlte mich als Germanist auch etwas angegriffen. Wie wichtig ist für Sie der Austausch mit Ihren Lesern oder mit Germanisten? Sparschuh: Mit Lesern, das ist ja das Wunderbarste, etwas ganz Herrliches. An der Stelle, wo der Held etwas unglücklich durch die Weltgeschichte rast, ist er mit mir überhaupt nicht identisch. Da ist er wirklich schon dabei, sein Gesicht zu verlieren und sich wie ein Doppelgänger seiner selbst zu fühlen. Aber, so eine richtige Lesung ist eigentlich für jemanden, der Erzählungen in weiterem Sinne schreibt, – und wenn wir uns die Herkunft des Wortes "Erzählung" oder "erzählen" vergegenwärtigen – eigentlich die Erfüllung, nämlich, dass man mit einem neuen Publikum eine interessante Begegnung hat. Twark: Sie empfinden es nicht so wie Ihr Erzähler in Lavaters Maske? Sparschuh: Nein. Das darf man als Autor, und das ist das Schöne. Man kann sich in die verschiedenen Rollen sehr extrem hineindenken und da ist sozusagen fast alles möglich. Twark: Merken Sie Unterschiede in den Kommentaren oder Reaktionen der west- und ostdeutschen Leser ihrer Werke? Sparschuh: Das ist interessant. Diese Frage wird sehr häufig gestellt und ich kann die nicht richtig beantworten. Ich bin nach wie vor der Überzeugung, dass die Trennung, die in Deutschland sehr viel älter ist als die Ost-West-Trennung, die Nord-Süd-Trennung ist. Die Nord-SüdTrennung betrifft zum Beispiel die Kultur, das Bewußtsein, das Bauwesen, das Wetter, das Essen usw. Rostock und Hamburg ist eine Geschichte und Dresden und München die andere. Da liegt eine Trennung. Es wird oft ignoriert, dass diese Ost-West-Trennung ja wirklich nur episodisch war. Das waren 40 Jahre, aber, wenn man sich in der Geschichte Deutschlands den Norddeutschen Bund und Bayern als Separatstaat und die Südstaaten anguckt, dann ist das eine viel ältere Trennung. Das merkt man bei Lesungen. Der südwestdeutsche Raum ist wieder eine ganz andere Geschichte. Es gibt auch nicht den typischen Ostdeutschen und nicht den typischen Westdeutschen. Twark: Aber ob die Ostdeutschen zum Beispiel doch eher mitempfinden und die Westdeutschen doch eher objektiver oder entfremdeter reagieren?

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Oder dass die ostdeutschen Leser vielleicht mehr lachen? Nichts ist bemerkbar? Sparschuh: Nein. Und ich glaube, das ist gut so. Twark: Ich merkte auch in Köln – ich habe Sie im Dezember dort bei einer Konferenz des Schriftstellerverbands gesehen –, dass die Leute sehr gelacht haben. Fast alle Ihrer Texte haben humoristische Stellen, oft sind sie durchweg ironisch. Warum bevorzugen Sie diese Schreibweise? Sparschuh: Ich kann es mir nicht aussuchen. Es ist Teil dessen, was ich als Wahrheit empfinde. Es gab im späten 18. und frühen 19. Jahrhundert zum Beispiel für Leute, die Verstand hatten, in Deutschland die Bezeichnung "ein Mann von Witz." Da war Witz ein Synonym für Verstand. Zur Zeit von Lichtenberg und Kant waren Witz und Verstand synonyme Begriffe. Wenn ich mir mein Philosophiestudium, und das was da im Zusammenhang steht, anschaue, dann sind für mich die Höhepunkte des Denkens die Aphorismen von Nietzsche, Lichtenberg, und Immanuel Kant in seinen besten Texten, zum Beispiel "Was ist Aufklärung?" Ebensolche Texte mit soviel wundervoller Ironie, dass man den Atem anhalten möchte, wurden von Stanislaw Jerzy Lec geschrieben, der polnische Aphoristiker des 20. Jahrhunderts. Solche Leute drücken für mich das Tiefste aus, was man ausdrücken kann: die Dinge in ihrer Vorderansicht, in ihrer Seitenansicht, in ihrer Hinteransicht und alles zusammen. Wenn man das alles zusammenbringt, dann entsteht so etwas wie so ein kostbarer Witz, im Sinne von Verstand, und es entsteht auch so etwas wie eine Art Ironie, weil wir unsere Position verlassen. Ironie heißt auch eine Relativierung der eigenen Position. Wenn wir eine Sache nicht statisch sehen, unter einer vorgefaßten Meinung, sondern von verschiedenen Seiten aus, dann sind wir gezwungen, unsere Positionen zu verlassen. Wir laufen um die Sache herum, am besten so, dass wir gleichzeitig alle Seiten sehen, und auf die Weise relativiert sich zwangsläufig unsere Position zu den Dingen. Auf die Weise entsteht zwangsläufig so etwas wie Ironie, und das ist aber die einzige Sichtweise, die mir interessant erscheint. Für mich und für meine Herkunft ist es das, was einen Text genießbar macht. Manchmal sagt man das in Deutschland fast ein bißchen abwertend oder entschuldigend, zumal Ironie und Humor so eine Art von Zweitklassigkeit darstellen. Sie dienen nur Unterhaltungsbedürfnissen. Die Wahrheit und die Tiefe liegen ganz woanders. Aber die Wahrheit ist am besten an der Oberfläche versteckt. Hegel sagt: "Das Wesen erscheint und die Erscheinung ist wesentlich." Deswegen ist eine Mißachtung der Erscheinung, weil es ja eben doch wesentlich ist, sehr engstirnig und würde mit dem, was ich unter humoristischem Stil verstehe, nicht kompatibel sein.

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Twark: Ihre Werke werden manchmal als Unterhaltungsliteratur in eine Schublade gesteckt. Sie sehen Ihre Werke also nicht als oberflächlich, wie sie den Kritikern erscheinen? Sparschuh: Nein. In der Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitung waren jetzt sogar zwei Rezensionen über Lavaters Maske. Eine davon war sehr gut. Darin stand: "Sparschuh zeigt, dass man über alles einen Roman schreiben kann, wenn man es kann." Das finde ich eine gute Beschreibung. Wenn man es kann, dann kann man es. Wenn man virtuos genug ist, auch über leichte Sachen zu schreiben, ist es auch in Ordnung. Ich glaube allerdings nicht, dass es richtig ist, von einem ironischen Ton oder von einem humorvollen Ton ausgehend zu behaupten, dass alles nur sehr unterhaltsam wäre. Twark: Das versuche ich auch in meiner Doktorarbeit zu beweisen. Sparschuh: Die Literatur braucht eine Fallhöhe. Unser Held ist manchmal sehr verzweifelt. Wir lachen über ihn und sind aber zugleich auch traurig mit ihm. Wenn man das nicht lesen kann, dann wird man sicher diese Oberflächen-Heiterkeit, oder was immer, lesen, und dann ist es wirklich nur die halbe Wahrheit. Die ganze Wahrheit ist beides. Mir macht es inzwischen gar nichts aus, wie man das beschreibt. In der Süddeutschen Zeitung war eine sehr interessante, eine sehr gute Rezension. Da schreibt der Rezensent: "Der Reiz dieses Romans, Lavaters Maske, liegt darin, dass er seine Leichtigkeit wie eine Falle auslegt." Das ist natürlich genau der Punkt. Wie eine Falle ist diese Leichtigkeit. Das fand ich sehr interessant. Twark: Sehen Sie Ihre Ironie oder Ihren Humor nicht als distanzschaffende Mittel, oder denken Sie, dass man sich mit Ihren Figuren auch identifizieren sollte? Sparschuh: Ironie, es gibt ja diese witzige Definition von Thomas Mann in "Bekenntnisse eines Unpolitischen," schafft zunächst Distanz zu der eigenen Person. Diese Person ist sich ihrer nicht mehr ganz so sicher. Wir können über die Figur lachen, und indem ein Stühlerücken stattfindet, so will ich es nennen, geschieht es, dass wir die Dinge aus einer anderen Perspektive sehen. Das kann beides zur Folge haben: das uns die Sachen befremden, oder dass wir zu ihnen Zugang finden. Wichtig ist mir nur, Sachen aus ihren festen Begriffszusammenhängen herauszulösen, so dass wir sie neu betrachten können. Das ist der einzige Witz, weswegen es sich lohnt, ein Buch zu lesen, nämlich dass man irgendeine Sache neu versteht. Alles andere kann man vergessen. Twark: Das habe ich auch in Ich dachte, sie finden uns nicht in dem Text "Warum schreiben?" bemerkt.

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Sparschuh: Das ist doch der ganze Witz der Sache. Wenn ich zum hundertsten Mal feststelle, dass der Autor oder die Autorin die Welt langweilig oder interessant findet. Das kann so als Behauptung gerade noch durchgehen, aber ich will es am Einzelnen sehen. Am Einzelnen muss ich feststellen, es ist so und es ist zugleich ganz anders. Twark: Matthias Wedel hat in seinem zusammen mit Matthias Biskupek verfassten Werk „Streitfall Satire“ in den 80er Jahren geschrieben: „Wer die Kulturgeschichte des Alltags im Sozialismus schreiben will, der kommt um den Witz nicht herum.“ Würden Sie dieser Aussage zustimmen? Sparschuh: Ja, sicher. Es gab eine wunderbare Kultur politischer und anderer Witze, und das ist verschwunden. Das gesellschaftliche Bewußtsein, das andere Kanäle sich auszudrücken oft nicht fand, weil es zensierte Zeitungen gab usw., hat wunderbare Witze geschaffen. Das war nicht nur in der DDR so, das war im ganzen Ostblock so. Das war eine wunderbare Kultur, die tatsächlich mit dem Ende der DDR schlagartig zu Ende gegangen ist. Deswegen hätte man die DDR nicht noch 10 Jahre konservieren müssen, aber die Witze waren wirklich gut. Twark: Aber Sie haben neue Witze nach der Wende geschaffen. Sie haben doch Witz, insofern gibt es noch Sachen, über die man lachen kann. Sparschuh: Aber das ist nur die schriftliche Form. Twark: Also Sie meinen, die mündliche Form der Witze ist verschwunden? Sparschuh: Aber das Wunderbare an diesen Witzen war, dass sie irgendwo herstammten, und keiner wußte woher. Das war das ganz Besondere an ihnen. Ein Witz, der zwischen zwei Buchdeckeln eingesperrt ist, ist kein richtiger Witz mehr. Twark: Dann wird er nicht mehr erzählt. Matthias Wedel hat auch gesagt, "Der Witz betont den Mißstand, macht ihn aber auch erträglich, weil die Kritik eben indirekt ist und zustande kommt, indem man sich sein Teil denkt. Das verschafft Genuß. Und darum ist der Witz im Moment des Lachens auch eine gute Lebenshilfe, mit dem Mißstand zu koexistieren, ohne sich mit ihm zu versöhnen." Hat Ihre humoristische Perspektive und Schreibweise Ihnen geholfen, die komplizierten Zeiten vor, während und nach der Wiedervereinigung zu bewältigen? Sparschuh: Ja, sicher. Die Definition wird schon ganz richtig sein. Das ist ein Verhältnis zu den Dingen, dass wir sie ein Stück kleiner machen, ohne sie zynisch zu reduzieren, dass wir sie handhabbarer machen, dass wir mit ihnen umgehen können. Weswegen ich Witze sehr liebe, hat durchaus mit dieser philosophisch-logischen Ausbildung zu tun, über die wir am

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Anfang unseres Gespräches gesprochen haben. Es geht um Paradoxien, um Antinomien, um Reduktion, um Analyse. Witze bringen die Sachen oft auf ganz archetypische, einfache Formen. Twark: Sie sind also wirklich Logikspiele. Sparschuh: Das sind Denkmodelle, mit denen ich jahrelang umgegangen bin, deswegen ist das mir sehr nahe. Twark: Hat sich Ihr Humor mit der Wende irgendwie geändert? Oder Ihre Art zu schreiben? Fühlen Sie, zum Beispiel, dass Sie mit Ihrem Witz freier umgehen können? Sparschuh: Eigentlich nicht. Es klingt wirklich so, als wäre ich Tschingis Kahn und die Zeit läuft an mir vorbei. DDR, BRD, alles egal. So ist es sicher nicht. Einen Text in der DDR zu veröffentlichen, war oft eine Geschichte jenseits aller Witzigkeit. Es war furchtbar mitunter, weil manche Sachen nicht herauskamen. Kopfsprung ist so ein Buch, das erst nach der Wende kam. Es ist erst 1990 ausgeliefert worden, als die DDR nicht mehr existierte, obwohl im Copyright steht, dass es 1989 herauskam. Twark: Wann haben Sie das Buch eigentlich geschrieben? Sparschuh: 1985. Twark: Also schon viele Jahre davor. Sparschuh: Da können einem der Witz und das Lachen vergehen. Aber letztendlich ist das Schreiben etwas, was ganz individuell passiert. Dann ist es auch egal, ob Erich Honecker oder Helmut Kohl an der Macht ist. Und sicherlich wird man – jetzt wie ich – nach der Wende sehr viel mehr in das Leben direkt hineingekommen sein. Ein Buch über die DDR-Gegenwart zu schreiben, wäre mir nicht eingefallen, weil ich kein sehr konfrontativer Typ bin. Ich habe vor der Wende im Westen Hörspiele gemacht, aber wenn ich mich in der DDR hingesetzt hätte, um ein Buch über die DDRWirklichkeit zu schreiben, dann wäre das schlecht ausgegangen. Kopfsprung hat lange genug herumgelegen. Dadurch, dass ich in der Wendezeit etwas Zeit beim Neuen Forum verbrachte, und eine Zeit lang tatsächlich den Blick auf die Realität, auf diese Wirklichkeit sehr geschärft hatte, war es einfach so, dass bestimmte Themen in bestimmte Tatsächlichkeit und Alltäglichkeit viel mehr Einfluss auf mich hatte, als vorher. Vorher war das eine Art Friedhofsbuch mit Goethe und Eckermann, das mich beschäftigte. Twark: Der große Coup. Sparschuh: Und Schneemensch. Der ist auch zum großen Teil in der DDR geschrieben worden. Das war ein Buch, in dem die DDR nur indirekt vorkam, als Innenansichten eines totalitären Staates. Aber mich hat die Geschichte wirklich interessiert, wie es im Dritten Reich war. Ich denke,

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jemand, der in der DDR gelebt hat, hatte mehr Chancen sich vorzustellen, wie ein totalitärer Machtapparat funktioniert, als jemand, der in der Bundesrepublik gelebt hat. Burkhard Spinnen, ein Kollege aus dem Westen, hätte ein Buch über das Dritte Reich nicht so schreiben können, weil er nach dem Krieg in Mönchengladbach geboren wurde, und nicht erlebt hat, wie so ein totalitäres Regime von innen aussieht. Insofern wird es immer eine Rolle spielen, wie die Welt auf einen wirkt. Ich denke mir nicht fortlaufend aus, welche Wirkung das hat. Es hat irgendeine Wirkung, und man ist selbst schlecht beraten, ständig darüber nachzudenken. Twark: Aber nach dem richtigen Kontext muss gefragt werden. Ich habe Ihnen meinen Artikel über Ihr Werk Der Zimmerspringbrunnen geschickt, und wollte wissen, was Sie über meine Ansichten zur Benutzung von Humor und Satire nach der Wende denken. Sparschuh: Ich habe den Artikel mit ganz großem Vergnügen gelesen. Mir hat dieser Artikel gefallen, was ich bei Germanistik nicht oft sage. Alles, was Sie an Aussagen und an Überlegungen haben, leiten Sie sehr direkt aus Textzusammenhängen her. Ihr Text ist nicht so spekulativ. Es ist nicht die Theorie, die darüber liegt und am Einzelfall exemplifiziert werden soll, sondern das, was an Überlegung zu Humor und Satire ist, wird aus den Texten, aus den Beispielen heraus abgeleitet. Der Text bewegt nicht von oben nach unten, sondern von unten nach oben. Das war mir sehr sympathisch. Twark: Aber was halten Sie von der theoretischen Einleitung, wo ich zum Beispiel Immanuel Kants Ansicht zu Humor mit einbezogen habe, dass Humor aus der plötzlichen Verwandlung einer Erwartung in nichts entsteht – die Wende als hohe Erwartung, woraus Humor entstanden ist. Sparschuh: Das war eine hoch passable Stelle. Immanuel Kant ist der größte Philosoph überhaupt. Er hat an der Stelle Humor so genau betrachtet – der Witz als diese Auflösung der Erwartung in nichts – dass es mir in Ihrem Text gar nicht als ein fragwürdiges Theoriegebilde vorkam. Es ist eine Wahrheit wie zwei mal zwei ist vier. Sie haben die auf diese Situation in der DDR angewendet, und da gibt es eine ontologische Basis für so eine Definition. Insofern passt das als Grundthese idealtypologisch zusammen. Twark: Aber haben Sie diese Situation selber so empfunden, dass diese Erwartungen sich bei Ihnen persönlich in nichts, also in Humor, gewandelt haben? Sparschuh: Nein, bei mir sicher nicht. Ich hatte nicht so hohe Erwartungen. Ich war beim Neuen Forum und wir haben die Leute gewarnt, dass es nicht so wird, wie die Leute denken. Aber die Leute waren wild entschlossen, es so zu tun. Dann muss man auch sagen, wenn

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die Mehrheit es will, dann muss es eben so sein. Das hat mich im folgenden nicht daran gehindert, kritischer und ironischer Begleiter dieser Verhältnisse zu sein, nicht zynisch zu sein, wie manche, die dann sagen, es kann so nichts werden. Das ist ja auch falsch. Vieles hat sich zum Besseren verändert. Aber ich wollte auch jetzt nicht bis in alle Ewigkeit recht behalten haben, weil ich auch nicht gewusst hätte, wie das alles am Ende gegangen wäre, besser gewesen wäre. Eigentlich war mein Verhältnis zu dieser politischen Entwicklung nicht eines, das von Anfang an mit vielen Illusionen versehen wäre, dass ich zum Beispiel frei sein werde und alles viel feiner sein wird. Dass Freiheit eine höchst persönliche Angelegenheit ist, weiß ich spätestens seit Immanuel Kant. Regime können noch so auftrumpfen, wie sie wollen. Öffnung und Hoffnung sind an eine bestimmte Art Realität geknüpft, und sie haben ihre Berechtigung. Gleichzeitig weiß man, vieles davon wird sich vielleicht nicht umsetzen lassen können. Twark: Haben Sie selber vielleicht noch weitere Erklärungen für eine humoristische Reaktion auf die Wende – die ich in dem Artikel als Phänomen bezeichne – als die, die ich erwähnt habe? Sparschuh: Nun, die Kant-Definition trifft schon sehr ins Schwarze, und wenn wir diese Grundsituation uns ansehen, Ost und West, erinnert man sich an Dick und Doof, oder Bert und Ernie aus der Sesamstraße, die unterschiedliche Geschwindigkeiten haben, eine unterschiedliche Mentalität haben, unterschiedliche Herkunft, unterschiedliche Größe, alles unterschiedlich. Twark: Wie ich auch gesagt habe, das sind zwei Kulturen, die aufeinander treffen. Es gibt diese komischen Unterschiede. Sparschuh: So ein "Kultur crash." Das lief aus dem Gleichmaß, aus der Normalität der Verhältnisse heraus. Entweder schlägt das Pendel ins Tragische um, was es auch genug in der Vergangenheit gegeben hat, oder ins Komische. Beides hat eine Wahrheit, und wenn es zusammen auftaucht, dann ist es auch noch und erst recht die Wahrheit. Twark: Meinen Sie, dass diese humoristische oder satirische Sichtweise Ihren Lesern die schweren Zeiten vor und nach der Wende erleichtert haben könnte? Sparschuh: Ja. Ich habe genug Briefe bekommen, in denen die Leute schrieben, durch Ihr Buch falle es ihnen wieder leichter zu leben. Das ist für den Autor ein Schreck. Man schreibt ein Buch eher zum Privatvergnügen, um etwas zu tun, um nicht tatenlos aus dem Fenster zu gucken, und plötzlich hat es eine Wirkung, die man überhaupt nicht absehen kann. Das ist ein Problem, mit dem man umgehen muss.

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Twark: Man muss also ein bisschen beim Schreiben aufpassen, dass man nicht alle Leute in den Selbstmord treibt. Sparschuh: Das ist bei Goethe mit dem Werther passiert. Ich nehme das einfach dankend und mit einer gewissen Rührung und Bestürzung zur Kenntnis, und vergesse es dann wieder, weil es das Schreiben auch schwer machen könnte, wenn man immer an die Leser denkt. Ich denke sehr wohl an die Leser, was Effekte und das Schreiben betreffen, und ich finde es hoch albern, wenn es Autoren gibt, die sich dem völlig versagen und nur an ihr innerstes Ich denken und wie man das ausdrücken kann. Ich werde einen Beitrag im März in der Beilage der Frankfurter Rundschau über Kinderliteratur publizieren. Es gibt in Deutschland diese Idee, auch von Kant ein bisschen inspiriert, dass die Kunst immer zweckfrei ist. Sobald man Zwecke im Sinne hat, zum Beispiel auch Leser, ist es keine richtige Kunst mehr, sondern eher eine Abart von Kunst. Ich muss ein bisschen dagegen polemisieren. Zur Kunst gehört auch Handwerk und eine gewisse Kunstfertigkeit, und da muss man unter anderem daran denken, dass es einen Leser gibt, der das, was auf dem Papier steht, auch rezipieren soll. Im handwerklichen Sinne denke ich also schon an den Leser, aber ich möchte jetzt nicht die ganze Verantwortung übernehmen, denn ich bin ja nicht die einzige Stimme Ostdeutschlands. Twark: Das wäre wohl eine zu hohe Verantwortung. Hat sich Ihre Sprache seit der Wende verändert? Sparschuh: Sicher. Da ich mit meiner Sprache nicht auf der Stelle stehenbleibe, und neue Wörter dazu gekommen sind, wird im Vokabular manches sich verändert haben. Es hat sich auch die Semantik mancher Begriffe verändert, weil man zu bestimmten Sachen ein bißchen mehr weiß, als man vorher wusste. Twark: Mit dem zunehmenden Alter hat sich Ihre Sprache dann mehr geändert als unbedingt durch die Wende? Sparschuh: Ja, aber es gibt auch zu bestimmten Sachen einfach mehr Information, zum Beispiel, was dieses Gesellschaftsmodell Sozialismus ist. Wenn ich alles in der Gänze angucke, dann hat sich die Semantik dieses Begriffes auch verändert. Ich habe ihn in DDR-Zeiten nicht besonders toll gefunden, aber im Nachhinein . . . Twark: Meinen Sie die Semantik des Wortes "Sozialismus" oder den Sozialismus selber? Sparschuh: Was bedeutet Sozialismus? Die DDR war für mich eine Gesellschaft, mit der ich nichts anfangen konnte. Ich habe an dem Rand der Gesellschaft meine Existenz gesucht, und das klappte ja. Wenn ich mir jetzt im Nachhinein klarmache, dass Sozialismus für viele Leute etwas mit

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Sicherheit zu tun hatte, ist das ein positiver Aspekt. Wenn ich mir im Nachhinein klarmache, was mir damals in der ganzen Tragweite nicht klar war, nämlich dass viele Leute eingesperrt waren und auf ganz schreckliche Weise behandelt worden sind, bekommt er [der Sozialismus] einen kriminellen, negativen Aspekt. Und so verändert sich die Semantik eines Wortes, was mir vorher eher gleichgültig war. Es bekommt nach der Wende mehr Power auf beiden Seiten, im Plus- und Minusbereich. Twark: Merken Sie, dass Sie anders schreiben, oder ist das einfach Ihre persönliche Entwicklung und keine Reaktion auf die veränderten Zustände? Sparschuh: Ja. Es ist einfach so – ich weiß nicht, wie es bei Bernd Schirmer ist, der viel für das Fernsehen schreibt – dass ich eine Zeit lang sehr viel für das Radio gearbeitet habe, einfach um Geld zu verdienen, und das verändert auch das Schreiben zum Guten. Twark: Man schreibt dichter. Sparschuh: Die wörtliche Rede wird dichter. Das muss man nicht als negativ sehen. Ich finde es albern, wenn Leute sagen, dass es eine Kunst sei, die betrieben wird, um Brot zu verdienen. Das Radio ist ein Medium, das man ernst nehmen muss. Twark: Hat sich Ihre Schreibmotivation seit 1989 verändert? Sparschuh: Nein. Twark: Wenn ich Ihren persönlichen Schreibstil rein technisch beschreiben müsste, in Lavaters Maske und eigentlich in allen längeren Texten, die ich von Ihnen kenne, würde ich als ein besonderes Merkmal erwähnen, dass Sie ausgesprochen oft Ausrufezeichen verwenden. Woher kommt bei Ihnen dieser Brauch? Warum machen Sie das? Denken Sie persönlich so, haben Sie öfter anregende Gedanken? Sparschuh: Ich finde es absolut schade, dass es in der modernen Literatur eine Zeit lang als Ehrlosigkeit galt, Ausrufezeichen und Fragezeichen zu verwenden. Am liebsten benutzte man „er sagte,“ „sie sagte.“ Das Ausrufezeichen verwende ich gern, den Gedankenstrich, das Semikolon. Ich finde, es hat einen Charme und einen Reiz, solche Zeichen zu verwenden. Selbst wenn eine innere Rede mit einem Ausrufezeichen versehen wird, finde ich, ein Text kann es vertragen. Und wenn ich ein Ausrufezeichen setze, setze ich ein Ausrufezeichen. Ich finde diese Prüderie albern, dass man sagt, "ach, keine Ausrufezeichen." Warum denn nicht? Manches ist ein Ausruf, und warum soll es nicht als Ausruf dastehen? Twark: Manchmal machen diese Ausrufezeichen die Figur in Lavaters Maske komischer, weil er sonst so ein lebensmüder Typ ist, und plötzlich

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hat er diese Begeisterungs-fähigkeit. Das war manchmal so absurd. Ich habe mich dann gefragt, wieso er plötzlich so glücklich ist? Sparschuh: Sie haben recht. Das ist ein Zeichen von der Widersprüchlichkeit seiner Figur. Twark: Was war und ist Ihre Beziehung zu Schriftstellerorganisationen? Sparschuh: Ich bin nicht in dem Deutschen Schriftstellerverband. Ich bin ausgetreten, weil ich dachte, dass es nicht richtig funktioniert, der VS, im Rahmen der großen Gewerkschaften. Ich hatte also ähnliche Motive wie der Günter Grass da auszutreten. Autoren gehören nicht in den Dienstleistungssektor der Gesellschaft. Ich bin aber im PEN. Twark: Ich habe mit anderen Autoren gesprochen, die meinten, sie seien im PEN, weil diese Organisation gegen die Unterdrückung von politisch verfolgten Autoren agiert. Sparschuh: Ja, das ist die vernünftigste Sache dabei. Ansonsten habe ich nur mit einzelnen Kollegen Kontakt. Twark: Und als Autor im vereinten Deutschland haben Sie keine Probleme, Ihre Existenz zu bestreiten? Sparschuh: Nein. Twark: Es gibt diesen Stereotyp von dem brotlosen Künstler, und es ist erfreulich, wenn ein Autor es schafft, erfolgreich zu sein. Sparschuh: Das Problem ist, dass man diese Idee immer im Hinterkopf hat, dass die Kunst brotlos ist, dann macht man sich etwas zu viel Arbeit. Jetzt läuft diese Geschichte mit Leipzig [der Leipziger Buchmesse], und ich habe einen neuen Roman auf dem Markt, und das Kinderbuch muss fertig werden. Man muss sehen, dass man eine gewisse Organisation verinnerlicht. Twark: Sie sind also mit einem neuen Kinderbuch fertig? Sparschuh: Ja. Es heißt Stinkstiefel und kommt jetzt im März. Twark: Worum geht es darin? Sparschuh: Es geht um einen Generationenkonflikt und um die Liebe. Ich glaube, es ist das beste Buch, das ich bisher geschrieben habe. Twark: Vielen Dank für das Gespräch.

Appendix 5 Interview with Reinhard Ulbrich Berlin, 30 June 2000 Twark: Sie haben Germanistik, Anglistik und Amerikanistik in der DDR studiert und sogar in der Literaturwissenschaft promoviert. Wie ich nach unserem Telefongespräch annehme, haben Sie in Leipzig studiert? Ulbrich: Nein, das war in Berlin, an der Humboldt Universität. Das betraf die von Ihnen genannten drei Fächer, und dazu die damals sehr seltene Wissenschaft der Keltologie. Twark: Was war das Thema Ihrer Doktorarbeit, wenn ich fragen darf? Ulbrich: Das hatte mit Keltologie zu tun und beschäftigte sich mit der Volksdichtung im literarischen Werk von Douglas Hyde, der ein Präsident Irlands war. Die Doktorarbeit hatte mit Werken zu tun, die in der irischen Sprache verfasst waren. Twark: 1986 haben Sie sich gegen eine literaturwissenschaftliche Karriere entschieden, und für die Tätigkeit eines "freien Schriftstellers." Was waren die Gründe für diese Entscheidung? Ulbrich: Das hing mit der Keltologie zusammen. Ich hatte auf Grund dieses seltsamen Faches – ich war einer von drei Leuten, die sich in der DDR damit beschäftigt haben – die außerordentlich ungewöhnliche Gelegenheit für zwei Jahre in Irland zu arbeiten. Ich habe an dem damaligen National Institute for Higher Education in Dublin größtenteils Germanistik gelehrt. Das ist heute die Dublin City University. Der Schwerpunkt dieser Arbeit lag im Bereich "kreatives Schreiben." Als ich nach diesen zwei Jahren wieder zurückkam, mutete mir im Vergleich zu irischen Verhältnissen der DDR Hochschulbetrieb ziemlich beengt an. Er war im Grunde genommen relativ lustlos, vor allen Dingen ohne Humor, was mich besonders gestört hat, weil ich den irischen Humor sehr schätze. Dies führte ziemlich schnell zu der Überlegung, "Wenn du zwei Jahre lang kreatives Schreiben unterrichtet hast, warum machst du die Theorie nicht mal praktisch, und schreibst?" So ist der Entschluss entstanden, und das hat erstaunlicherweise funktioniert. In der DDR ein freier Schriftsteller zu werden war nicht ganz einfach. Man konnte sich nicht einfach abnabeln und losschreiben und davon leben. Man benötigte eine sogenannte

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Steuernummer. Die benötigt man heute immer noch. Das ist einfach Deutsch. Aber um diese Steuernummer in der DDR zu bekommen, war es erforderlich, nachzuweisen, dass man von der beabsichtigten freien Tätigkeit auch würde leben können. Also brauchte man Auftraggeber, die bestätigten, Herr Ulbrich wird für uns tätig werden, und im Jahr voraussichtlich ein paar tausend Mark verdienen – damals brauchte man nicht so viel Geld wie heute – und wir stimmen folglich der Erteilung dieser besagten Steuernummer zu. Ich hatte schon vorher, als ich noch an der Universität war, für Verlage gelegentlich Rezensionen geschrieben. Daher kannte ich ein paar Leute, die mir vertrauensvoll genau diesen Brief aufsetzten. Der fand vor den Augen der Steuerbehörde Gnade, und man erteilte mir die Nummer und dann ging es los. Twark: Sie sind der Autor, von dem ich die wenigsten biographischen Informationen habe. Können Sie mir mehr über Ihre Biographie sagen, als in den Klapptexten Ihrer Bücher steht? Was haben Sie z. B. für Bücher, Kurzgeschichten, oder Artikel vor der Wende veröffentlicht? Ulbrich: Dass Sie so wenig biographisch von mir wissen, liegt wahrscheinlich daran, dass ich der unbedeutendste der von Ihnen behandelten Autoren bin. Die Schriftstellerei fing mit einem Buch über Irland an. Das lag einfach nahe. Das hieß Insel Traum und Erwachen. Das wurde von 1987 bis 1988 geschrieben. Damals konnte man sich für Bücherschreiben relativ viel Zeit nehmen, weil man genau wußte, sie werden sehr lange brauchen, bis sie überhaupt erscheinen. Dieses Buch hatte die seltsame Funktion, überhaupt zum ersten Mal in der DDR über Irland zu berichten. Es war ein persönlicher Reisebericht über die zwei Jahre, die ich da gearbeitet hatte, und verkaufte sich sehr gut. Das hängt nicht unbedingt mit meiner Qualität als Autor zusammen, sondern das hat sicherlich mit der Marktstellung zu tun gehabt, wenn wir überhaupt von Markt reden wollen. Es war das erste Buch zum Thema. Es war ein ungeheurer Bedarf da, weil man ja selbst nicht reisen konnte. Insofern hat es sich sehr gut verkauft. Aber es gab ein zweites Kriterium, das objektiver war. Es erschien in einer zweiten Auflage in einer besonderen Edition, die auch exportiert wurde, und da verkaufte es sich ebenfalls recht gut. Twark: Bei welchem Verlag war das? Ulbrich: Die Originalausgabe war bei Brockhaus in Leipzig erschienen, dem Verlag, der auf geographische Literatur spezialisiert war. Es gab zwei Brockhaus Verlage – den klassischen, der heute noch das Lexikon herausgibt und den Ost-Brockhaus, der mehr in die geographische Richtung ging. Die entstammten aber beide diesem alten Traditionsverlag Brockhaus. Die Zweitauflage, von der ich sprach, erschien in der Edition Leipzig. Das war ein Reprint, das aus verschiedenen Verlagen gespeist

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wurde und genau den Zweck hatte, sowohl den Inlandmarkt als auch besondere Möglichkeiten im Export zu bedienen. Die Gesamtauflage von beiden, die belief sich auf 25.000, und wurde auch nicht schlecht bezahlt, muss ich sagen. Das hat mir erstmal für ein oder zwei Jahre Luft gegeben. Man konnte damals mit 25.000 Ostmark schon eine Weile laufen. Und von da ab hat sich der Selbstlauf eher stürmisch entwickelt. Als das Irland Buch fertig war, kam die Wende. Das war kurz vor 1989, und es gab eine große Unsicherheit unter Autoren, was werden würde. Alte Verlagsbeziehungen brachen zusammen. Der Brockhaus Verlag, bei dem ich mich gerade etabliert hatte, wurde geschlossen, weil dieser spezifische Bedarf nicht mehr gegeben war. Man brauchte keine Reiseliteratur mehr auf dieser Ebene. Der Verlag Volk & Welt, für den ich als Rezensent tätig war, und Nachworte und einiges mehr geschrieben hatte, war im Prinzip der zuständige Verlag für Importliteratur aus dem westlichen Ausland. Er verlor auch seine Monopolstellung, weil alle möglichen Verlage plötzlich in die DDR hinein exportieren konnten. Es mussten sich also die Sortimente drastisch umstellen, um Marktlücken zu finden. In dieser Zeit hatte ich durch etliche Leute, die damals mit der ungarischen Fluchtwelle weggegangen waren, plötzlich schon Beziehungen ins Bundesgebiet hinein, als es noch die DDR gab. Sie meldeten sich und sagten, wir kennen jemanden, der jemanden sucht, der einen Reiseführer über die DDR schreiben kann. Das Thema wurde ja plötzlich für die Bundesrepublik interessant, weil die Leute die DDR als terra incognita entdeckten. Sie kannten Toskana komischerweise viel besser als Brandenburg und Sachsen. Zu der Zeit gab es eine Initialzündung, bei der man damals für lächerliche Beträge gearbeitet hat. Ich rede dauernd von Geld, aber es spielte damals keine so große Rolle. Um ein Beispiel zu nennen, gab es ein Angebot von DM 1.500 für einen kompletten Reiseführer. Damals hatten wir noch die Ostmark, und ich dachte, mein Gott, DM 1.500 West ist doch viel Geld. Meine Frau und ich haben das dann zu Hause überlegt, und ich habe gesagt, "du bist ein schlechter Geschäftsmann, wenn du das so nimmst." Dann war ich kühn, und habe mir erlaubt, auf DM 1.600 hoch zu handeln. Man hat dabei was gelernt, und es hat ja auch Spaß gemacht. Twark: Wie hieß dann der Reiseführer? Haben Sie ihn auch fertiggestellt? Ulbrich: Ja. Der hieß einfach Mark Brandenburg. Ich habe auch noch einen Fehler gemacht, weil ich vom westlichen Vertragsrecht keine Ahnung hatte, und habe im Grunde genommen sämtliche Rechte abgetreten. Das Buch hat sich auch genauso gut verkauft. Es hat fünf Auflagen erzielt, und ich habe einmal diese Pauschalsumme gesehen, und das war es. Ich mache den Leuten keinen Vorwurf. Sie waren in wirtschaftlichen Schwierigkeiten, und sind auch inzwischen verdientermaßen in Konkurs gegangen. Aber

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für uns war das damals möglich, weil wir eine Zeit lang beide Währungen parallel kassierten. Man hat das Ostgeld für den alltäglichen Bedarf und das Westgeld für die luxuriösen Sachen gebraucht. Das ging ein paar Monate lang, aber dann war natürlich Schluß. Aber was ich eigentlich sagen wollte, ist, dass diese Tür zum westlichen Markt auf eine kuriose Weise aufgestoßen worden ist, aber es hat funktioniert. Twark: Für wen haben Sie danach gearbeitet? Ulbrich: Das werden Sie von anderen Kollegen gehört haben. Es gibt ja einen Mechanismus, der auf Zuruf funktioniert. Man kann nicht sagen, "ich setze mich hin und schreibe jetzt ein Buch, und dann versuche ich es ganz toll zu verkaufen." Es gibt Leute, die das machen. Ganz wenige haben auch Glück. Die meisten scheitern einfach. Sie gehen dann zum Selbstverlag über oder machen sonst was. In aller Regel funktioniert es bei mir so, dass jemand sagt, ich kenne da jemanden, wollen wir den mal fragen, oder jemand ruft an und sagt, ich habe gehört, Sie haben zu dem Thema schon mal was geschrieben. Dann kann man sagen, das mache ich, oder ich habe keine Zeit, die Bedingungen gefallen mir nicht usw. Das hat ein Dominoeffekt gehabt, der sich bis heute so fortsetzt. Das sind aber die Pflichtteile, daneben gibt es eine Kür, und über die reden wir hier doch eher. Die Pflichtteile sind der Broterwerb. Die hat im Grunde jeder Autor. Jeder Autor macht Arbeiten, die für den Lebensunterhalt da sind, und Sachen, die er aus Neigung macht. Im besten Fall können einen diese Broterwerbsarbeiten auch in einer emotionalen Beziehung vereinnahmen. Die Kinder, die einen am liebsten sind, sind natürlich die, die man selber von Anfang bis Ende ausspinnt, und die man auch geboren sieht. Twark: Von Matthias Biskupek habe ich erfahren, dass Sie einer der Redakteure des Eulenspiegels geworden sind. Wann haben Sie diese Stelle angenommen, und haben Sie vor, noch lange auf der Stelle zu bleiben? Ulbrich: Das hat relativ spät angefangen. Das ist wieder so eine Geschichte, wie die, von der ich vorher sprach, nämlich, dass die auf Zuruf angefangen hat. Ich kannte einen der Chefredakteure schon vor der Wende. Er war damals noch gar nicht beim Eulenspiegel. Twark: Wer war dieser Chefredakteur? Ulbrich: Jürgen Nowak. Er ist heute Verlagsleiter beim Eulenspiegel Verlag. Er rief mich vor zweieinhalb Jahren an und fragte, ob ich nicht Lust hätte, Satiren zu schreiben. Sie suchten immer Autoren. Ich sagte, klar. Es lag mir auch nahe, nach allem, was vorher gewesen ist. Twark: Hatten Sie vorher keine Satiren geschrieben? Ulbrich: Nicht systematisch, nein. Er hat aber Spur der Broiler gelesen, und offenbar daraus geschlussfolgert, dass da stilistisch eine Nähe sein könnte.

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Die will ich auch gar nicht leugnen. Ich habe zugesagt, und im Grunde ein Jahr lang für den Eulenspiegel so wie jeder andere Autor gearbeitet. Und nach einer Weile meldeten sich die Leute wieder und fragten, ob ich nicht Lust hätte, da richtig als Vollzeitredakteur anzufangen. Dazu hatte ich keine Lust, mal ganz konkret gesagt, weil ich so glücklich als Freiberufler bin, dass ich mir nicht doch das Korsett einer Vollzeittätigkeit an einem Ort anlegen möchte. Wir haben dann den Kompromiss gefunden, dass ich als fester freier Mitarbeiter zehn Tage im Monat bei ihnen arbeite. Auf dieser Basis kann es von mir aus lange weitergehen, weil ich daneben auch den Kürteil frei habe, der mir die Möglichkeit eröffnet, eigene Sachen zu schreiben. Aber Sie fragten vorhin nach der Biografie. Davon sind wir ganz abgekommen! Ich bin 1953 in Berlin geboren, bin also ein Urberliner, und verbrachte meine Kindheit in einfachen Verhältnissen. Richtige Armut gab es nicht in der DDR. Twark: Was haben Ihre Eltern gemacht? Ulbricht: Mein Vater war in einem optischen Betrieb als Gehilfe tätig und hat dann ein Fernstudium in Ökonomie gemacht und ist in einem Außenhandelsbetrieb in der DDR beschäftigt gewesen. Meine Mutter war Sekretärin und hat ebenfalls im Abendstudium Kulturwissenschaften studiert. Das kam aber später. Da war ich schon 14 oder 15 Jahre alt. Twark: Sie waren trotzdem relativ arm, obwohl beide Eltern gearbeitet haben? Ulbrich: Das waren die Rahmenbedingungen in den 60er Jahren. Gerade für Frauen gab es aber recht passable Bedingungen. Denen wurde der Rücken ein bisschen freigehalten. Das hatte natürlich praktische Gründe, weil man die Frauen als Arbeitskräfte brauchte. Das wurde durchaus angenommen. Damit will ich die DDR nicht schön reden, aber in einigen Details hat es ganz einfach funktioniert und sicherlich für die Leute auch etwas Nützliches bedeutet. Ob man es geliebt hat, ist eine ganz andere Frage. Dann war ich erstmal auf der normalen Schule, war von den Leistungen her soweit passabel, dass ich an die Erweiterte Oberschule gehen konnte. Ich hatte aber überhaupt keine Vorstellung, was ich machen wollte. Nach einer Weile kam die Idee, Journalistik zu studieren, aber Freunde rieten mir dringend ab, weil das in der Regel an den sogenannten "roten Klostern" in Leipzig stattfand. Das war die Journalistische Fakultät, und die war für ihre Methoden verschrieen. Da lernte man nämlich nicht, wie man schreibt, sondern vor allen Dingen was man zu schreiben hat. Möglicherweise war ich dann auch zu doof, um diesen Prozeß einzuleiten. Ich hatte nämlich vergessen, dass man als Voraussetzung dafür ein Volontariat benötigt, und dafür hatte ich mich gar nicht beworben. Als ich mich dann für das Studium dort bewarb,

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meinten sie, "Wo ist Ihr Nachweis eines Volontariats?" "Was für ein Nachweis?" habe ich dann gefragt. Das Volontariat wäre bei einer Zeitung gewesen. Da hätte ich gelernt, wie alles dort abläuft, zum Beispiel wie Meldungen getextet werden, von der Agenturmeldung bis zur fertigen redaktionellen Meldung. Es war nicht möglich, dieses Studium aufzunehmen, ohne diese Erfahrungen gehabt zu haben. Das hat mir aus Versehen zu meinem Glück gereicht, dass ich Journalistik nicht studieren durfte, weil ich zum Studium nicht zugelassen wurde. Ich bin dann durch einen Freund, den ich vom Gymnasium kannte, auf Anglistik gekommen, ursprünglich mit der Maßgabe, Lehrer zu werden. Dazu hatte ich aber nicht die richtige Ader, weil der Schulstress nicht mein Fall ist, obwohl ich mit Kindern gut umgehen kann. Vor einer Klasse als Dompteur zu stehen ist nicht mein Ding. Meine Frau ist Lehrerin, und sie ist aus dem selben Grund an der Uni geblieben. Aber das lief dann auch anders, weil in dem speziellen Matrikel, in dem ich war, sogenannte Diplomanden ausgebildet wurden. Das waren keine Diplomaten, sondern Studenten, die mit einem einfachen Diplom abgeschlossen haben, ohne Lehrer zu werden. Sie hießen dann Diplom-Anglisten, und sie wurden nach einer Weile aus den Studenten aussortiert. Die, die einigermaßen fachlich herausragend waren, konnten Diplomanden werden. Das war ungefähr die Hälfte der Gruppe. Ich war unter diesen. Man wurde dann zwar nicht Lehrer, aber sonst alles Mögliche. Einige gingen als Dolmetscher zum Halbleiterwerk in Frankfurt an der Oder. Das klang nicht so toll, weil es praktischer Kram war. Es gab alle möglichen Berufe, in die man hineingelangen konnte. Ich blieb dann erstmal an der Uni, weil mein akademischer Lehrer, damals Martin Hockel, meinte, ich könnte es in der Keltologie probieren. Die Voraussetzung war dann natürlich, Gaelisch zu lernen. Wir haben damals Intensivkurse veranstaltet, zuerst in Waliesisch, und dann mit Irisch weitergemacht. Das war ziemlich schweißtreibend, aber man ist nicht dümmer davon geworden. Ich verdanke Martin Hockel, dass er mich auf diesem Weg zur Promotion geführt hat. Ich hatte aber auch reizende Anglistikkollegen, die mir heute immer noch verbunden sind. Wir sehen uns zwar in großen Abständen, aber doch regelmäßig. Wir grämen uns nicht darüber, dass ich dann von der Uni weggegangen bin, obwohl man das an der Uni damals ungern gesehen hat. Ich bin aber gegangen, weil alles an der Uni verplant war. Ich hätte sagen können, was ich dann im Jahr 2005 an der Universität mache. So waren die Pläne. Das war einer der Gründe, der mich furchtbar angestunken hat. Zu sagen, du kannst bis zur Bahre schon voraussehen, was du um 16 Uhr an dem und dem Tag machen würdest. Das ist übertrieben gesagt, aber in groben Zügen war es schon so. Das hatte für viele Leute eine beruhigende Funktion, aber für mich nicht. Ich war damit noch nicht fertig. Aber es führte eben dazu,

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dass man dauernd nicht verstanden hat, warum jemand aus dem Raster hinaus will, in dem alle abgesichert waren und "glücklich und zufrieden bis ans Ende ihrer Tage leben konnten," um es mit den Worten des Märchens zu sagen. Ich ging aber trotzdem weg und nach einer Weile haben es die Leute dann verstanden. Als die Wende kam, wurde es ganz verrückt, weil sie dann sagten, "du hast rechtzeitig erkannt, was los ist." Und ich hatte eher bloß an mich gedacht, ehrlich gesagt. Aber so waren die Dinge. Twark: Was sind für Sie die Unterschiede im Eulenspiegel vor und nach der Wende? Ulbrich: Vor der Wende hatte der Eulenspiegel sicherlich eine Ventilfunktion. Das sehen die Leute, die damals da waren und heute noch da sind, ganz deutlich. Das sind aber auch diejenigen, die damals schon gewusst haben, was da läuft, und versucht haben, doch noch so viele scharfe Satiren zu machen, dass es eine gewisse Kritik beinhaltete, die manchmal über den Rahmen des Vorgegebenen hinausging. Das war schwierig, und mitunter sogar gefährlich. Wegen solcher scharfen Texte sind Leute 'rausgeflogen. Die Idee damals war, zu töten, ohne zu verletzen, um es grotesk auszudrücken. Heute ist alles erlaubt. Da entgleiten Leuten mitunter die Maßstäbe. Es geht manchmal über das Maß des guten Geschmacks hinaus, und manchmal ist es so, dass es für meine Begriffe ein bisschen in der Ostecke hängen bleibt. Es ist zu sehr Nabelschau, zu sehr auf den Osten gerichtet. Das ist insofern etwas problematisch, weil die Leserschaft mittlerweile gesamtdeutsch ist, erfreulicherweise. Es gibt einen beträchtlichen Teil von Abonnenten im Altbundesgebiet, und sie finden mitunter im redaktionellen Teil nicht so recht Berücksichtigung. Daran arbeiten wir jetzt. Twark: Wie hoch war die Auflage vor der Wende und dann danach? Ulbrich: Vor der Wende weiß ich nicht so genau. Damals wurde die Zahl der Auflage grundsätzlich nicht veröffentlicht. Es waren mehrere hunderttausend Exemplare, so viel steht fest. Und die wurden natürlich an noch mehr Leser weitergereicht, als die eigentliche Auflage betrug, weil die von Hand zu Hand gingen. Ein Eulenspiegel Abonnement zu haben, war Goldstaub, wie man damals gesagt hat. Das führte richtig zu Warteschlangen, wenn es mal Exemplare gab. Die wurden vererbt und ähnliches. Heute beträgt die verkaufte Auflage ungefähr 120.000, und die hält sich auch konstant. Twark: Was war Ihre erste, spontane, schriftliche Reaktion auf den Fall der Berliner Mauer? Ulbrich: Ein Artikel, der sich mit deutsch-deutschen Befindlichkeiten befasste, für den Freitag oder eine ähnliche Zeitung, weil relativ früh unter Journalisten klar wurde, dass doch nicht alles so einheitlich geblieben ist,

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wie es bei geschlossener Mauer wirkte. Die deutsche Wiedervereinigung als Auftrag des Grundgesetzes war die theoretische, und unter Umständen "schöne" Seite, aus bundesdeutscher Sicht. Die praktische Seite war die, dass zwar räumliche Nähe, aber doch deutlich seelische Entfernung bestand. Es gab Pflichtbesuche von Verwandten, aber die jüngere Generation hatte sich beträchtlich auseinandergelebt. Ich denke, als die Mauer fiel, habe ich auch noch leidlich zur jüngeren Generation gehört, also nicht zu denen, die zur Hälfte in der DDR gelebt haben, und die andere Hälfte in der Bundesrepublik. Bei der jüngeren Generation waren die Unterschiede schon deutlich zu sehen. Ich kannte bundesdeutsche Kollegen aus dieser Arbeit in Dublin, z. B., mit denen ich hervorragend klargekommen bin. Das funktionierte auch dadurch, dass wir uns erzählt haben, was uns bewegt, und auch das, was uns unterscheidet, was wir für Verschiedenes erlebt haben. Das hat mitunter Staunen ausgelöst, dass bestimmte Dinge bis hin zur Sprache auseinanderklafften, die wir uns gegenseitig immer erklären mussten. Wobei wir meinten, wir kämen doch aus der selben Ecke. Es war doch nicht so einfach. So hat es angefangen, dass man durch Erklärungen versucht, einander zu verstehen. Das ist aber bis heute ein hoffnungsloses Unternehmen. Twark: In meiner Doktorarbeit analysiere ich acht satirische Romane ostdeutscher Autoren, darunter Ihr Werk Spur der Broiler. Es ist mir aufgefallen, wenn ich auf Ihre anderen, enzyklopädiehaften oder essayistischen Texte schaue, dass dies Ihr einziger Roman ist. Wie sind Sie auf die Idee gekommen, diesen Roman zu schreiben? Ulbrich: Das hat mit persönlicher Freude am Fabulieren zu tun, aber vielleicht ist es auch der letzte Kick, den man braucht, nicht um mich selber anzutreiben, sondern einfach um nochmal zu rekapitulieren, was im eigenen Leben gewesen ist. Twark: Also ein Erinnerungsversuch. Ulbrich: Diese ganze Sache mit der Ostalgie, die damals auch schon begrifflich im Raum stand, hat mir insofern Schwierigkeiten gemacht, weil "Ostalgie" schon als Wort auf "Nostalgie" aufbaut, auf der Sehnsucht nach Dingen, die zurückliegen. Das wurde oft an materiellen Verhältnissen in der DDR festgemacht, aber das betrifft mich überhaupt nicht. Ich bin froh, dass ich davon weg bin. Aber ein schlauer Rezensent hat geschrieben, er habe Spur der Broiler gar nicht als Ost-West Buch oder als Ostbuch gelesen, sondern als ein Buch, das sich mit Kindheit und Jugend beschäftigt. Das ist schon wahr. Es findet unter diesen spezifischen Bedingungen natürlich statt, aber ich sehe es eigentlich so, dass die Zeit reif war, mag es "midlife crisis" gewesen sein, oder was auch immer, sich selber nochmal zu erzählen, was man damals erlebt hat. Und

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es gibt eine komische Begebenheit im Zusammenhang damit. Als das Buch neu war, gab es natürlich eine Lesereise durch alle möglichen Städte. Ein Termin war im ehemaligen Westberlin, und zwar in Moabit. Und da hatte ich große Probleme, weil ich das Umfeld überhaupt nicht kannte. Ich wusste nicht, was für Leute zu so einer Lesung kommen würden. Ich dachte, es würde anstrengend werden. Ich ging aber dahin, und der Laden war rappelvoll, was mir schon komisch vorkam. Dann habe ich gelesen, und die Leute lachten, zwar nicht an allen Stellen, an denen ich dachte, dass sie lachen würden. Man erlebt aber in der Hinsicht sowieso immer Überraschungen, dass Leute Sachen komisch finden, die man selber nicht als komisch konzipert hat. Sie gingen jedenfalls hervorragend mit, und hinterher, als ich dachte, jetzt beantworte ich die üblichen Fragen, packe zusammen, und gehe nach Hause, da blieben sie sitzen, packten die Weinflaschen aus, und wollten unbedingt mit mir über das Buch reden. Nachdem wir dann zwei oder drei Stunden darüber geredet haben, habe ich die Gegenfrage gestellt, warum sie so intensiv mit diesem Buch umgehen. Sie meinten dann, bestimmte Teile, die darin vorkommen, haben sie eins zu eins wiedererkannt, zum Beispiel, dass der Sportunterricht Quälerei war. Das war für mich ein erstaunliches Erlebnis, weil ich ursprünglich überhaupt nicht gedacht habe, dass so etwas allgemein gültig ist, aber wahrscheinlich war es denn so. Die DDR ist einfach die zeitlich begrenzte Projektionsfläche, auf der sich das bewegt. Twark: Das ist ein Grund, warum Bücher in der Zukunft weiter gelesen werden. Ulbrich: Das hofft man. Das ist aber auch einer der Gründe, warum ich weniger Romane geschrieben habe, und danach keinen mehr geschrieben habe. Diese Geschichte ist einfach für mich erzählt und vorbei. Eine andere Geschichte muss erst wieder passieren. Es gibt natürlich auch Geschichten, die man sich selber komplett ausdenken kann, aber jeder Autor webt irgendwo zusammen, was er selber erlebt hat. Er kombiniert es und spinnt es anders zusammen, aber eine reine Fiktion, die komplett von A bis Z erdacht ist, das gibt es meines Erachtens nicht. Da ist einfach Leben zu leben, bevor man wieder schreibt. Bei essayistischen Dingen ist es einfacher. Sie machen sich an alltäglichen Dingen fest, an Dingen, über die man sich ärgert. Das ist eine kleinere Form, mit der man schneller umgehen kann, mit der man auch schneller zum Publikum kommen kann, aber die auch schneller verbraucht wird. Zur Ostalgie nochmal kurz: Das einzige Buch von mir was wirklich im klassischen Sinne mit dieser Ostalgie zu tun hat, nicht im Sinne von Sehnsucht, sondern im Sinne von Rückbesinning ist dieses Lexikon der Ostprodukte. Da geht es eins zu eins um Dinge, die einen Namen haben, die in einer bestimmten Zeit vorkamen, und wo Leute sagen, aha, das gab es ja. Das ist sicherlich etwas,

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was in so einer Zeit entstand, weil auch komischerweise ein Bedarf da war, sich in dieser speziellen Form zu erinnern. Das ist heute lange vorbei, und ich würde sowas nie wieder machen. Twark: Das war also Anfang bis Mitte der 90er Jahre? Ulbrich: Ja, und jetzt ist es vorbei. Twark: Ab wann ist es für Sie vorbei gewesen? Ulbrich: Ich bin ja nicht der Papst, der darüber berichten kann, aber vom Gefühl her, würde ich sagen, spätestens 1996 oder 1997. Twark: Da kippte alles um, und die Leute hatten kein Interesse mehr? Ulbrich: Ja, Sie werden in den Buchläden gesehen haben, dass es immer noch massenhaft Angebote gibt, und sie werden noch gekauft, aber ich denke, die große Welle ist vorbei. Es ist auch im Diskurs kein Thema mehr. Es gibt heute genug andere Probleme, die genau damit zusammenhängen, dass es inzwischen wieder ein deutsch-deutsches gemeinsames gelebtes Leben gibt, was behandelt sein will, und nicht diesen sturen Blick, der aus der Rentnerperspektive partout immer noch über den Rest der Mauer blicken will. Twark: Zu Ihren Vorbildern für Spur der Broiler gehören meines Erachtens die Kinderbücher von Erich Kästner und, in der Geburtsszene, Die Blechtrommel von Günter Grass. Gibt es andere literarische Vorbilder für das Buch, oder für Ihre anderen Werke? Ulbrich: Sie haben es schon sehr genau gesagt. Sicherlich spielt Günter Grass in der Geburtsszene eine Rolle; Kästner mit der Pfiffigkeit, mit der sich Leute durch das Leben schlagen. Ansonsten sind direkte Vorbilder schwer zu benennen. Von der Art des Herangehens ist sicher der besagte Eulenspiegel eine Leitfigur, mit der wir zu tun haben, eben der Schelm. Damit ist sicherlich eine Identifikation gegeben, wenn auch nicht hundert Prozent. Aber es liegt mir im Wesen, bestimmte Dinge ironisch betrachten zu müssen, weil ich nicht alles im Leben eins zu eins ernst nehmen kann. Dann könnte ich es nicht aushalten. Das ist aber nun gerade in Deutschland besonders schwer, und das war in der DDR noch schwerer, weil die DDR der Ausbund an Humorlosigkeit war. Alles, was mit Humor zu tun hatte, wurde offiziell misstrauisch beäugt, denn es hätte sein können, man lacht über die falschen Leute oder die falschen Themen. Das hat dazu geführt, dass zum Beispiel hervorragendes Kabarett gemacht wurde, genau auf diesem Grat, mit allen Problemen. Das konnte zum Absturz führen, aber die Vorstellungen waren exzellent besucht, und sie beinhalteten exzellentes Kabarett. Es konnte zu banalsten, politischpropagandistischen Aufführungen führen, die richtig peinlich waren. Das

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hat dazu geführt, dass nach der DDR eine Art Humorexplosion stattgefunden hat. Twark: Das Verdrängte musste heraus. Ulbrich: Ja, das Verdrängte musste heraus. Es gab aber bestimmte Dinge, die mit der DDR verschwunden sind. Der politische Witz, zum Beispiel, der in der DDR eine ganz wichtige Position hatte, ist verschwunden. Twark: Das beklagen viele. Ulbrich: Ich weiß nicht, ob ich das beklagen soll. Ich registriere es. Twark: Oder vermissen. Ulbrich: Ich staune darüber. Theoretisch wird das Phänomen so erklärt, dass der politische Witz eine Begleiterscheinung von diktatorischen Umständen ist. Twark: Aber es gibt auch in den USA einige Satiriker, die richtig gute politische Witze machen. Ulbrich: Aber ich glaube, die Funktion ist eine andere. Dieses befreiende Lachen geht nicht mehr davon aus. Es ist eher heute eine Übereinstimmung, die über diesen Witz hergestellt wird. Dass man sagt, "so sind die Verhältnisse, du hast Recht, ich sehe es auch so." Damals war es so, dass die Wirkung des Witzes darin bestand, sich gegenseitig zu sagen: "Sind die nicht unglaublich dämlich, die das alles machen?" Twark: Man wurde also von den Witzen wütend. Ulbrich: Genau. Das war ein grollendes Lachen, das aber auch die Wirkung gehabt hat, "es ist ausgesprochen, es ist zwar nicht expressis verbis gesagt, aber doch gesagt worden, und damit sind wir es erstmal los." Sonst ist der Humor heute einfach anders geartet. Sie wissen, es ist eine ewige Streiterei, ob es den deutsch-deutschen Humor gibt. Ich habe den Verdacht, die Deutschen haben nach wie vor keinen Humor. Da hat sich also nach wie vor nicht allzuviel geändert. Es ist schwieriger heute, weil, wenn man alles sagen kann, wird auch alles schnell beliebig. Insofern muss man seinen Gegenstand schon sehr zugespitzt vortragen, um Gehör zu finden und immer noch pointiert zu wirken. Das ist sicherlich in so einem kleinen Rahmen wie bei einer Satirezeitschrift gut möglich. Im großen Rahmen, der über 200 oder 300 Seiten tragen soll, ist es schwerer. Davon gibt es im literarischen Bereich auch wenig Angebote. Ob ich es gut mache, weiß ich nicht, aber es gibt wenig andere, die so einen langen Atem haben, in so einem großen Rahmen. Das ist schade. Twark: Solche Bücher werden dann aber auch nicht respektiert. Die meisten von diesen Büchern werden von Literaturwissenschaftlern nicht

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behandelt, außer vielleicht Thomas Brussigs Helden wie wir, das auch nicht durchgehend lustig ist. Ulbrich: Dazu würde jeder Autor natürlich sagen, dass er Bücher nicht für die Literaturwissenschaft schreibt, sondern erstmal für sich selbst. Die Sache muss 'raus, dann kommt es irgendwo in den Handel, und wenn es abgesetzt wird, ist es prima, und wenn nicht, ist es immer noch gut, dass es geschrieben wurde. Twark: Klar. Ich erlebe eben als Literaturwissenschaftlerin die andere Perspektive. Haben Sie Helden wie wir von Thomas Brussig gelesen? Ulbrich: Ja, es ist ein tolles Buch. Twark: Den Quotensachsen von Matthias Biskupek? Ulbrich: Nein, den nicht. Der steht noch irgendwo oben, und muss gelesen werden. Den habe ich noch nicht geschafft. Twark: Sehen Sie Gemeinsamkeiten zwischen Ihrem Protagonisten, Bernie Freilich, und Klaus Uhltzscht aus Helden wie wir? Ulbrich: Das sind eher zufällige Übereinstimmungen. Ein guter Freund von mir hat mich davor gewarnt, Helden wie wir zu lesen, bevor ich Spur der Broiler fertig hatte, denn er sagte, pass auf, das ist eine Geschichte, die sich in einer ähnlichen Region bewegt, und da lässt du dich unter Umständen beeinflussen. Und er hat Recht gehabt. Ich habe es danach gelesen, und fand tatsächlich auch Ähnlichkeiten. Wobei Uhltzscht jemand ist, der auf einer erwachseneren Ebene Dinge tut, die ihm aufgetragen sind, wogegen Berni in dem Buch eher sein kindliches Naturell bewahrt. Twark: Er ist naiver und eigentlich viel netter. Ulbrich: Er ist so erzogen, immer alles zu glauben, was man ihm sagt, und alles zu tun, was man von ihm will. Das geht, wenn man es konsequent zu Ende treibt, immer schief. Das hat eigentlich weniger mit den Bedingungen zu tun, als mit allgemeinmenschlichen Problemen. Das kann auch heute genauso passieren. Wenn jeder alles glaubt, was er im Fernsehen sieht, dann wird er wahnsinnig, oder er rennt ständig gegen eine Wand. Twark: Das ist ähnlich wie der Uhlztscht, der so beschränkt an alles glaubt, an die Polizei oder die Justiz. Ulbrich: Es sind bloß andere Altersstufen und andere Umstände, in denen das passiert. Twark: Der Berni ist auch verständlicher, weil er Freunde hat. Ulbrich: Ja, der Uhlztscht ist allein. Das ist ein Unterschied. Und wenn er plötzlich Gesellschaft hat, dann ist es ausgerechnet Honecker. Twark: Oder seine Stasi Kumpels.

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Ulbrich: Ja. Die Komik entwickelt sich aber aus der gleichen grotesken Situation – immer zu glauben, was vorgegeben ist, und zu tun, was einem gesagt wird. Twark: Das sind auch Situationen, die jeder in der DDR erlebt hat. Sie waren an sich absurd. Ulbrich: Nur ist es bei Brussig sicherlich so, dass er die Stasisachen nicht so direkt erlebt hat, wie ich. Bestimmte Dinge, die Berni Freilich in dem Buch erlebt hat, sind tatsächlich vorgekommen. Das bei Brussig ist stärker abstrahiert. Es gibt bei ihm Dinge, die er erfindet. Aber sie sind gut abstrahiert, das räume ich neidlos ein. Twark: Ich fand das Buch aber ein bisschen lang. Es gibt Teile, die einfach langatmig sind. Ulbrich: Es ist auch sehr erotomanisch. Es ist für meine Begriffe überdreht. Aber das ist sein gutes Recht. Wenn er die Dinge so sehen will, dann soll er sie so sehen. Warum denn nicht? Twark: Fast alle Ihrer Texte haben humoristische Stellen, oft sind sie durchweg ironisch. Wie würden Sie selbst Ihre Art Humor beschreiben? Was ist der Ursprung dieses Humors? Ulbrich: Der Ursprung des Humors ist das Naturell meiner Mutter. Sie ist ein Mensch, der in jeder Lebenslage etwas Gutes entdecken kann. Das ist eine beneidenswerte Gabe, die ich kaum bei einem anderen Menschen gefunden habe. Mit dieser Lebensgewitztheit ist sie oft in große Schwierigkeiten gekommen und hat sich bis heute – sie ist schon über 70 Jahre alt – über alle Fährnisse hinweg nicht unterkriegen lassen, und ist meistens guter Dinge, was ich nicht bin. Sie kennen die alte Geschichte: bei Humoristen zu Hause geht es am traurigsten zu. Bei mir ist es nicht so, aber es gibt natürlich Stunden, wenn man da sitzt und grübelt. Aber nach einigen Stunden geht es dann wieder. Das gehört zum Leben. Wer richtig fröhlich sein will, und immer nur fröhlich ist, der muss blödsinnig sein. Also wie gesagt, dieses Naturell habe ich von meiner Mutter geerbt. Das heißt nicht, dass ich in jeder Situation etwas Gutes finde. Um diese Fähigkeit beneide ich sie. Die habe ich selber nicht. Aber über bestimmte Dinge lachen zu können, auch wenn sie eigentlich nicht gut aussehen, die Fähigkeit ist zumindest an mich weitervererbt worden, und dafür bin ich ihr sehr dankbar. Sie hat das nicht auf mich bewußt übertragen, aber man nimmt es sich ja an, und sieht sich es ab, als Kind vor allen Dingen. Deswegen spielt es auch viel im kindlichen Bereich noch. Die Art des Humors, die ist sicherlich noch irgendwo infantil. Im Deutschen ist das eher abwertend, aber kindlich ist es schon. Manchmal denke ich, je älter ich werde, in mir steckt immer noch der alte Oberschüler. Darüber bin ich ganz froh, weil bestimmte Dinge immer noch in Frage gestellt werden

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dürfen. Man darf naiv sein. Man kann noch mal ganz zum Anfang zurückgehen und sagen, moment mal, da bin ich jetzt nicht mitgekommen. Das musst du mir nochmal erklären. Der eingeweihte Profi, der heute immer alles versteht, nickt, und alles weiß, oder zumindest vorgibt, alles zu wissen, weil er sonst nicht wie ein Profi aussieht, der bin ich nicht. Es gibt bestimmte Situationen, in denen man sich so verstellt, weil es erforderlich ist, aber es macht keinen Spaß. Ich habe noch Freunde aus der Schulzeit, mit denen ich mich vierteljährlich treffe, und da lassen wir die Jungs von damals noch raus. Es ist schon so, dass wir nicht nur in der Vergangenheit leben, sondern bestimmte Dinge, die uns in dieser Zeit passiert sind, nochmal mit den Augen des Heranwachsenden sehen. Das ist nicht nur erfrischend, sondern auch unter Umständen befreiend. Man kann dann nochmal über Sachen lachen, wobei andere völlig drin stehen und mit einem Bierernst sich wundern, dass die Umwelt grimmig auf ihre Reaktionen reagiert. Auf eine kindliche Reaktion erfolgt im Gegensatz dazu in der Regel zwar Staunen, aber auch meist Wohlwollen. Das habe ich bisher nicht als nachteilig empfunden. Das ist sicherlich der wesentliche Motor und auch das Wesen des Humors selber. Bei Satire wird dieses Wesen natürlich ein bisschen anders sein, wenn es konkret in den Zeitschriftenbereich geht. Da muss man schon mal draufhauen können, und auch böse werden. Gute Satire ist unter Umständen auch böse, wenn sie einen politischen Zweck haben soll. Nur blödeln bringt überhaupt nichts. Ich bin ein großer Freund von Blödelei, aber bei politischer Satire ist es witzlos, nur blöde Witze zu machen. Da muss man schon eine Zielrichtung haben, womit ich nicht Gesinnungssatire meine, sondern einfach bewerten, was politisch passiert und was politisch wünschenswert wäre. Wenn man beides gegen einander abwägt, entstehen daraus schon genug Stoffe. Auf die Art und Weise kann man also unendlich arbeiten. Twark: Gibt es also bei Ihnen immer eine Vorstellung, wie die Dinge sein sollen? Man spricht immer von der Utopie als dem Ziel der Satire, als von etwas, das hinter jeder Satire steckt. Ulbrich: Das ist nicht so groß wie die Utopie insgesamt. Das ist auch kein Gesamtentwurf. Man hat mir in meinem Leben zu viele gesellschaftliche Gesamtentwurfe eingetrichtert, als dass ich heute mit einem Gesamtentwurf lehren möchte. Das bewegt sich in viel kleineren Einheiten. Wenn mir ein Politiker [wie Helmut Kohl 1999-2000] vor einem Untersuchungsausschuss deutlich zu lügen scheint, dann denke ich, das da was nicht stimmt, was im Parteiengesetz vorgegeben ist, wäre vielleicht nicht der Idealzustand, aber doch der Zustand, der hier zu erreichen wäre. Aus dieser Diskrepanz kann man schon arbeiten. In dem Fall ist nicht die Verbesserung der Welt gemeint, oder die Verbesserung

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der Bundesrepublik, sondern das Praktische. Damit ist genug Bewegungsraum für Satire. Die wird natürlich zunehmend schwieriger, auch dadurch, dass die Politiker alles selber daran setzen, unfreiwillig komisch zu wirken, und Satire zu betreiben. Der Satiriker kommt ihnen gar nicht mehr nach. Wie bei Tucholsky in den zwanziger Jahren kann man nur noch um sich hauen. Oder wie bei Karl Krauss der, ich glaube, über ihn sagte, "das ist ein Mann, der mit einer Schreibmaschine versucht, eine Katastrophe abzuhalten." Tucholsky ist für mich einer der größten. Twark: Mathias Wedel hat in seinem zusammen mit Matthias Biskupek verfaßten Werk Streitfall Satire in den 80er Jahren geschrieben: "Wer die Kulturgeschichte des Alltags im Sozialismus schreiben will, der kommt um den Witz nicht herum." Würden Sie dieser Aussage zustimmen? Ulbrich: Wir waren schon beim politischen Witz. Sicherlich ist der Witz in dem Sinne weitergefasst. Man wird nicht drum herum kommen, aber es gibt heute erstaunlich wenig Material, aus dem man Rückschlüsse über die Situation ziehen könnte. Es hat natürlich Witzsammler gegeben, die solche Sachen gesammelt haben, aber merkwürdigerweise sind sie nach der Wende wenig an die Öffentlichkeit getreten. Man hat ursprünglich angenommen, jetzt werden alle Schubladen aufgerissen und alle Manuskripte, die im Verborgenen schlummerten, werden endlich ans Tageslicht gelangen und gedruckt, konsumiert oder rezipiert werden. Pustekuchen! Da kam gar nichts groß, und wenn etwas kam, wurde es nicht mit viel Wohlwollen bedacht. Ich kann mich entsinnen, kurz nach der Wende hat ein Verlag ein Exposé zum Thema "Politischer Kitsch aus der DDR" angeboten. Das war 1990 durchaus im Schwung, aber es ist am Ende nicht gemacht worden. Das ist alles untergegangen. Das war aber eher eine Ausnahme, wenn so was kam. Bei Witzen sieht es ganz grau aus. Es gibt heute wahrscheinlich kaum noch jemanden, der eine komplette Übersicht hat. Das ist schade, weil man an Witzen selber die Situation breiterer Bevölkerungsschichten ablesen kann. Welche Witze wurden erzählt? Warum? Wie schnell haben sie sich verbreitet? Derartige Dinge sind natürlich fantastisch als Medium. Twark: Sie werden gewiss irgendwann intensiv untersucht. Man müßte einfach Interviews mit Leuten führen, genauso wie diese, aber bis dahin werden wahrscheinlich viele Leute nicht mehr leben. Ulbrich: Je weiter man sich von der Zeit entfernt, desto schwieriger wird es, einen bestimmten, historischen Zustand zu rekapitulieren. Aber um den Witz kommt man nicht herum. Da ist, zum Beispiel, der alte Eulenspiegel ein Fundus, im Guten wie im Bösen. Es gibt auch schlimme politische Propaganda darin. Da sieht man aber deutlich, was offiziell

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gewünscht war, bzw. was unterhalb dieser Ebene noch gemacht werden konnte. Twark: Wedel hat auch gesagt: "Der Witz betont den Mißstand, macht ihn aber auch erträglich, weil die Kritik eben indirekt ist und zustande kommt, indem man sich sein Teil denkt. Das verschafft Genuß. Und darum ist der Witz im Moment des Lachens auch eine gute Lebenshilfe, mit dem Mißstand zu koexistieren, ohne sich mit ihm zu versöhnen." Hat Ihnen Ihre humoristische Perspektive und Schreibweise geholfen, die schweren Zeiten vor und nach der Wiedervereinigung zu bewältigen? Ulbrich: Ja. Das, was ich vorhin über den Witz gesagt habe, deckt sich mit dem, was ich über die befreiende Wirkung des Lachens sagte. Die schweren Zeiten vor und nach der Wende betreffen mich ehrlich gesagt nicht. Ich würde nicht sagen, dass es mir damals furchtbar schlecht ging. Ich bin kein begeisterter Anhänger des Systems gewesen, aber auch kein Gegner. Das muss ich schon der Gerechtigkeit halber sagen. Insofern gab es nicht so viel, was ich an bösen Dingen durch Humor oder Witze kompensieren musste. Es gab einen Alltag, der einfach damit leichter wurde, so wie heute Alltag durch Lachen leichter werden kann. Ich hatte auch nach der Wende nicht allzu viele schwere Zeiten, insofern ist das Lachen mir nicht im Halse steckengeblieben. Das kann ja passieren. Ich kenne Leute, die so was ähnliches gemacht haben, und danach absolut keinen Grund mehr fanden, die Dinge humorvoll zu betrachten. Wenn einem das Wasser wirklich bis ganz oben steht, muss man schon überlegen, ob man schwimmt oder darüber lacht. Insofern bin ich nach wie vor in einer privilegierten Position, dass ich über die Welt philosophieren kann und ein gemütliches Sofa unter mir habe. Das [die Wende] ist eine Geschichte, über die sich gut weiter witzeln lässt, aber für mich ist die befreiende Wirkung des Humors heute die, dass er mir viel von meiner Wut nimmt, die ich über bestimmte Dinge empfinde. Ich würde sonst sicherlich wütend werden und schreien müssen oder so was. So kommt es aber heraus und man findet sogar Gleichgesinnte, die sagen, genauso ist es, wie es da [in meinen Schriften] steht. Abgesehen davon, dass man für sich selber in schwachen Momenten die Genugtuung hat, wenigstens irgendetwas getan zu haben, anstatt bloß den Fernseher über diesen Zustand anzubrüllen. Es gibt in Deutschland diese "Couchpotatokultur," bei der die ganze Nation zu Hause hockt und sich aufregt, aber im Grunde genommen ändert sich wenig, weil die Leute vom Sofa gar nicht aufstehen. Ich meine, ich gehe von dem Sofa auch nur bis zum Schreibtisch, aber zumindest, was in dem Moment herauskommt, kursiert unter Leuten. Das ist wenigstens ein Schritt mehr. Darauf halte ich mir nichts zugute. Das ist einfach mein Beruf. Es ist das Glück dieses Berufes, bestimmte Dinge machen zu können, die anderen eben versagt

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bleiben. Das genieße ich schon sehr und bin sehr froh darüber. Das ist, abhängig von der befreienden Wirkung, einfach auch ein Glücksgefühl, Leute lachen zu hören. Das ist etwas ganz Elementares. Ich genieße es, wenn ich dasitze, und vor mir sitzen hundert Leute, und die lachen. Das finde ich fantastisch. Das wird nur davon übertroffen, dass jemand hundert Leute zum Heulen bringen kann. Ich meine, wenn er das literarisch anlegt. Politisch schaffen es Leute aus Versehen zehntausende von Leuten zum Heulen zu bringen. Wenn das jemand will, und auch transportieren kann, ist es etwas Großartiges, Gefühle zu wecken. Das ist schön. Und wenn man anderen durch Lachen helfen kann, leichter durch das Leben zu kommen, macht das auch Spaß. Das ist befriedigend und gibt mir viel. Das hat gar nicht mit schweren Zeiten zu tun, sondern einfach mit Alltag. Twark: Und haben Sie gemerkt, dass diese humoristische Sichtweise Ihren Lesern hilft? Ulbrich: Ja, vielleicht, für den Moment sicherlich. Ich bilde mir nicht ein, eine langfristige Wirkung zu haben. Dazu ist der Literaturbetrieb heute viel zu hektisch. Ein Buch geht heute 'raus und ist morgen vergessen. Es gibt Momente, in denen man sich wieder mal über etwas freut, was man gelesen hat. Man trifft auch Leute, die schon mehrere Bücher von einem selber gelesen haben, einfach weil ihnen der Stil gefällt. Ich habe auch Leser, die zu mehreren Lesungen nacheinander kamen, um nochmal lachen zu können, und andere, zu beobachten, worüber die anderen lachen. Das fand ich interessant. Das hat schon einen soziologischen Aspekt. Es ist natürlich auch so, dass bei bestimmten Dingen den Leuten mit Satire gut der Spiegel vorgehalten werden kann, so dass sie zurücktreten und sagen, "Donnerwetter, was ist denn hier los?" Das war mit meinem Knigge Buch, als Wendebuch für Ostdeutsche und Westdeutsche, so. Das ist die Ebene, auf der ich mich in Zukunft noch bewegen kann, weil beide Seiten mehr oder weniger adäquat Berücksichtigung finden. Das hat auch auf beiden Seiten eine ähnliche Reaktion gefunden, wenn man heute noch überhaupt von beiden Seiten sprechen will. Es gibt bestimmte Dinge aber, bei denen sich Leute mit einer östlichen Sozialisierung wiedererkennen, und einige mit einer westlichen Sozialisierung, die heute schon vermischt sind, aber immerhin einen Schritt zurücktreten und sagen: "Hoppla! Irgendwas stimmt hier nicht." Wenn man darüber lachen kann, ist es besser, als wenn man sagt, "Für so ein Quatsch haue ich Dir eins vor die Rübe." Oder ich beschimpfe dich dafür. Es gibt auch einen ganzen Markt, der heute mit Beschimpfungen operiert. Das ist eine sehr unerfreuliche Erscheinung, weil diese Autoren ihren Frust auskotzen. Darüber muss man Satiren schreiben, um denen, die sich darüber ärgern, aber nichts dagegen sagen

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können, eine Stimme zu geben. Dabei bin ich nicht der Held, der sich da aufschwingt, aber weil ich so wütend bin wie die, mache ich das einfach. Und wenn meine Arbeit dann in Lachen mündet, dann ist es O.K. Twark: Bekommen Sie manchmal Ärger von Leuten wegen der satirischen Botschaft in Ihren Texten? Ulbrich: Zum Glück hat der Eulenspiegel einen hervorragenden Anwalt. Satiriker werden oft verklagt, aber ich selber habe komischerweise noch keinen Ärger damit gehabt. Beschimpft zu werden ist ein Berufsrisiko des Satirikers. Ich bekomme schon böse Leserbriefe. Das zeigt, dass Leute mich ernst nehmen. Das beruhigt mich auch irgendwie. Wenn nur Ruhe ist, dann ist es verdächtig. Da stimmt etwas nicht. Wenn die Leute meckern, ist es in Ordnung. Dann ist die Botschaft angekommen. Twark: Finden Sie, daß Humor oder Satire eher distanzschaffende oder versöhnliche Mittel sind, oder vielleicht ein Gemisch von beiden? Ulbrich: Beides. Es ist versöhnlich in dem Augenblick, wo es Aggressionen in vernünftige Bahnen lenkt, um sich davon frei lachen zu können. Es ist versöhnlich, indem es Konsens über bestimmte Zustände herstellt, die tolerierbar oder nicht tolerierbar sind. Wenn es Satire ist, sind die Zustände in der Regel nicht tolerierbar. Es ist trennend, wenn es sich auf bestimmte unerfreuliche Dinge einseitig konzentriert. Das sollte man natürlich vermeiden. Man sollte niemanden in der Satire vorführen, nur um ihn einfach vorführen zu können, um ihn mieszumachen, herabzuwürdigen oder zu beleidigen. Die Satire hat auch eine Tradition als Beleidigung, weil Leute manchmal bei bestimmten Dingen so dickfellig sind, dass man sie gar nicht anders trifft, ohne Eingangsbeleidigungen loszulassen. Danach kann man erklären, was man eigentlich sagen will. Man muss zuerst die Nussschale knacken, um an den Inhalt zu kommen. Das ist schon ein sehr grober Keil, den man auf den Block setzt. Mir ist, um es mit dem Bild der Waffe auszudrücken, das Florett lieber als der Säbel. Die leichte Waffe ist mir lieber als die schwere. Die ist eleganter. Das klappt zwar nicht immer, aber es ist besser, mal anzutippen, und anderen unter Umständen auch weh zu tun, aber nie richtig zu verletzen. Twark: Ich behaupte in meiner Doktorarbeit, dass satirische und humoristische Literatur ein Trend in der Nachwende-Literatur ist. Stimmen Sie mit dieser Behauptung überein? Haben Sie vielleicht eine Erklärung für dieses Phänomen? Ulbrich: Ja, vielleicht nolens volens. Alle haben nach der Wende, dem Fall der Mauer und der Wiedervereinigung den großen Roman erwartet, aber der kam partout nicht. Thomas Brussig ist eine Zeit lang als der Autor des Wenderomans gehandelt worden. Aber es ist nie etwas Schweres, etwas Thomas Mann-artiges herausgekommen. Das haben offensichtlich die

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Literaturkritiker mehr erwartet, als die Autoren es vermisst haben. Es kamen dann Dinge, die eher leichter konsumierbar gewesen sind. Wobei ich Brussig nicht unbedingt als so leicht konsumierbar finde. Man muss eine Menge Kontext kennen, um die Details komisch zu finden. Aber das ist vielleicht nur der Tatsache geschuldet, dass die Nachwendeereignisse für viele Leute schon so traurig oder beschwerlich waren, dass dazu nicht noch eine beschwerliche Literatur gepasst hätte. Man hätte sie völlig heruntergedrückt. Nun ist das Anliegen dieser Autoren nicht, die Leute zu unterhalten, oder ihnen eine Freude zu machen, sondern sie [die Autoren] haben selber aus derselben Empfindung wie alle heraus etwas geschrieben. Vielleicht hat dies eine Grundstimmung, die geherrscht hat, ausgedrückt. Die wollte eher etwas Satirisches, etwas Zugespitztes, unter Umständen etwas Heiteres sogar, als etwas total Kopflastiges, was weiter herunterzieht. Das ist meine private Erklärung. Eine große allgemeine Erklärung für alle gibt es sowieso nie. Man kann immer nur den Einzelfall erklären. Für alle gemeinsam zu sprechen, das hatten wir lange genug. Ich kann mir aber vorstellen, wenn man arbeitslos ist, wie Hunderttausende Mitte der neunziger Jahre waren, und zu Hause sitzt, und von seinem begrenzten Geld sich ein Buch absparen muss, dass er sich genau überlegt, was für ein Buch er sich zulegt, ob er dann etwas Unterhaltsames nimmt, was gar nichts mit den Umständen zu tun hat, oder vielleicht eine Geschichte, die leichter daherkommt, und ihn mit Ermunterung an seine gegenwärtige Situation führt oder ihm den Rücken stärkt. Twark: Hat sich Ihre Sprache seit der Wende verändert? Ulbrich: Es hat ja im Wortschatz Divergenzen zwischen Ost und West gegeben. Das gleicht sich unwillkürlich an. Wir haben jahrelang von der "Kaufhalle" gesprochen, und heute sagen wir "Supermarkt." Es ist bloß komisch, dass im Westen niemand "Kaufhalle" sagt, und wir müssen "Supermarkt" sagen. "Wir" ist schon eine komische Formulierung. Da fällt man in die alte Sprache zurück. Diese Sprachveränderungen passieren aber, wie gesagt, unwillkürlich. Das machen wir unbewusst. Das gleicht sich den allgemeinen Begebenheiten an. Das, womit ich mich überhaupt nicht identifizieren kann, ist "der Flieger" anstatt "des Flugzeugs." In der geschriebenen Form hat sich meine Sprache aber nicht groß gewandelt. Es ist eine neue Lexik dazugekommen, die zu Benennungszwecken gebraucht wird. Es gibt auch unabhängig von der Wende bestimmte Dinge, die in der Bundesrepublik eine Rolle spielen. Ich kann nicht Zustände politischer Art in der Bundesrepublik satirisch behandeln, wenn ich nicht in der Lage bin, sie überhaupt zu bezeichnen. Twark: War es am Anfang schwierig, diese Bezeichnungen zu lernen?

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Ulbrich: Die Bezeichnungen eigentlich nicht, sondern überhaupt die Grundzüge des Systems sich anzueignen. Wie diese spezifische Form der parlamentarischen Demokratie funktioniert, zum Beispiel. Das habe ich aber aus praktischen Gründen relativ schnell gemacht, weil man für seine Arbeit dieses Mittel braucht. Bei Sachen wie Spur der Broiler spielt das aber gar keine Rolle. Da bleibt man selbst in der Sprache, die man immer hatte. Stilistisch hat es sicherlich keine Veränderung gegeben. Es gibt langfristige Veränderungen bei jedem Menschen, und es fallen mir keine aktuellen Stilfiguren ein. Twark: Hat sich Ihre Schreibmotivation seit der Wende verändert? Ulbrich: Das spielerische Element ist kleiner geworden. In dem Maße wie mein Antrieb aus politischen Gründen zu schreiben wächst, desto geringer wird der spielerische, leichte Anteil. Was ich meine, ist der geistig spielerische Teil. Zu sagen: "du hast diesen Freiraum, dir etwas auszudenken, oder dir ein Thema auszudenken, und das einem Verlag anzubieten." Das geht zurück. Es kommt eher eine Sache, die mit tatsächlichen Gegebenheiten zu tun hat, und die Ausdruck verlangt, und deswegen behandelt werden will. Solche Dinge, die sich an der Realität reiben, sind stärker im Vordergrund als früher. Dinge, die sich aus persönlichen Interessen einfach ergeben haben, spielen eine geringere Rolle. Das meine ich damit. Damit soll nicht der Unterschied zwischen Pflicht und Neigung gemeint sein, aber es ist eine andere Form von Neigung. Ich gehe stärker auf politische Dinge ein, die mich beschäftigen, wohingegen ich früher auf Dinge eingegangen bin, die mir im Kopf herumgegangen sind, ohne dass sie im Alltag eine Rolle gespielt haben. Es war einfacher zu fabulieren, sich selber über Themen spielerischer Art zu verbreiten, die man einem Verlag anbieten könnte. Das ist heute nicht mehr der Fall. Ich bewege mich stärker in Angeboten, die von Verlagen kommen. Da sind Reihenfolgen gegeben, zum Beispiel, wo sie sagen: "Wir machen eine Reisereihe 'Traumstraßen der Welt.' Hast du Lust, den Band zu Großbritannien zu machen?" Dann sage ich: "OK. Das mache ich." Das hat den großen Vorteil, dass man eine Rahmenvorgabe hat. Es ordnet sich ein und ist fertig. Aber der freie Teil kommt dadurch rein zeitlich zu kurz. Twark: Wann haben Sie dann Spur der Broiler geschrieben? Ulbrich: Von 1996 bis 1997. Twark: Also direkt vor dem Druck. Ulbrich: Ja. Das Buch ist relativ kurzfristig entstanden. Ursprünglich war es als Sachbuch konzipiert. Ich kannte Inke Brodersen, die damals Leiterin des Rowohlt Berlin Verlages war. Der Rowohlt Verlag Berlin ist eine Ausgründung aus dem Rowohlt Verlag Reinbek mit der Zielstellung, junge

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Literatur in Berlin zu fördern. Damals spielte diese besondere Umbruchssituation in der Stadt eine Rolle. Da kamen Ost und West zusammen, da kamen politisch links und politisch mitte zusammen. Es war eine interessante Mischung. Da schrieben ehemalige Offiziere über die Bundeswehr, oder ehemalige Mitglieder aus dem Politbüro ihre Biographien, und Inke Brodersen hatte die Idee – nach einem anderen Buch, das ich mit einem Fotografen zusammen gemacht hatte, Grüner Pfeil und Rennpappe, das bei Rowohlt erschienen ist – ein Buch über den Alltag in der DDR zu schreiben. Es sollte beschreiben, wie ein normaler Mensch in der DDR gelebt hat. Das lief sich aber als Stoff viel zu breit an. Man hätte nie im Leben den Alltag von 17 Millionen Menschen zwischen zwei Buchdeckel pressen können. Es ist dann eine autobiographische Geschichte literarischer Art daraus geworden. Es spricht für die Größe von Inke Brodersen, dass sie das Buch drucken ließ, auch wenn etwas anderes daraus geworden ist. Jetzt wird der Rowohlt Verlag Berlin, wie fast alle Verlage, umstrukturiert, und die ganze Verlagsführung hat ausgewechselt. Es ist noch nicht abzusehen, wo das enden wird. Ich bin dem Verlag aber aus diesen Gründen verbunden, weil sie eine sehr angenehme Art des Umgangs mit Autoren hatten. Twark: Sie hatten einen Vertrag abgeschlossen, das Buch zu schreiben. Haben Sie dann auch ein Stipendium oder einen Zuschuss dafür bekommen? Ulbrich: Nein. Wir hatten Rahmenbedingungen vertraglicher Art geschlossen, aber Vorschüsse gibt es heute überhaupt nicht mehr. Man muss auf eigenes Risiko schreiben. Das Buch selber hat nur vier Monate zum Schreiben gebraucht. Ich habe aber in dieser Zeit überhaupt nichts anderes gemacht. Ich habe zehn bis vierzehn Stunden am Tag daran gearbeitet. Ich bin ein ziemlicher Bürokrat, wenn ich so ein Projekt habe. Ich höre nicht eher auf, bis ich denke, es ist druckreif. Ich möchte nicht, dass noch viel daran korrigiert wird. Ich hasse Korrektur lesen, weil ich das andauernd bei anderen Autoren machen muss. Twark: Gibt es einen Grund dafür, dass Sie fast alle Ihrer Texte, zum Beispiel Sandmännchen im Trabi-Land: Das Ostalgie-Kultbuch, Grüner Pfeil und Rennpappe: Ein ostdeutsches Fahrtenbuch, Knigge für Deutsche: Über den Umgang mit Ostmenschen/Westmenschen. Ein Wendebuch, und das Kleine Lexikon Grosser Ostprodukte, nach dem Alphabet richten? Ulbrich: Bei den essayistischen Sachen macht es sich einfach praktischer. Man hat ein natürliches Skelett, an dem man sich anhängen kann. Das hängt mit dieser Pedanterie zusammen, von der ich gerade sprach. Man hat diesen Punkt A bis B erledigt, und dann ist der Tag vollendet. Es bleibt überschaubar. Das ist ein praktisches Hilfsmittel, das in drei oder

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vier Büchern ganz gut funktioniert hat. Es betrifft aber bei weitem nicht alle. Es gab mal eine Zeit lang ein Boom mit Pseudolexika. Twark: Wie Reinhold Anderts Unsere Besten: Die VIPs der Wendezeit. Ulbrich: Ja. Die Leute haben in diesen Nachschlagewerken in einer Art schnelle Auffindung alles nochmal Revue passieren lassen wollen: wer was war, was was war, wo was stand usw. Am Anfang hatten sie seriöse Nachschlagewerke gemacht, zum Beispiel, Wer war wer in der DDR. Auf dieser Basis konnte man natürlich gut eine Satire aufbauen, indem man den Quatsch in der DDR nochmal vernudelte. Das hat dann richtig Spass gemacht. Das ist aber auch vorbei. Es gibt andere Dinge an der Tagesordnung. Twark: Worüber würden Sie schreiben, wenn es die DDR oder auch die Wiedervereinigung mit der BRD nicht gegeben hätte? Ulbrich: Das ist eine interessante Frage. Ich denke, ich wäre wahrscheinlich anders als jetzt nicht nach draussen gegangen, sondern eher in den kleineren, inneren Bereich, und hätte mich mit regionalen Themen beschäftigt. Das hatte ich in der späten DDR schon gemacht. Ich hatte eine Menge Themen aus Sachsen vorgegeben bekommen. Ich habe einen Teil angefangen, aber dann nicht weitergemacht, weil der große Rahmen schon interessanter als der kleine war. Man konnte aber mit regionaler Literatur – Reiseführern und Ähnlichem – eigentlich ganz gut leben. Es gab auch viele Kleinverlage, die irgendwo in einer Kreisstadt saßen und ein bisschen Geld für solche Projekte hatten. Das wäre eine Nische gewesen, in der man nicht auffällt, aber vorankommt, auch wenn man den Literaturnobelpreis nicht erobert. Twark: Haben Sie viel Forschung treiben müssen, um Ihre Nostalgiebücher zu schreiben, oder konnten Sie sich einfach so an die meisten Produkte, Zustände oder Gesellschaftsbräuche erinnern? Ulbrich: Das war verschieden. Bei dem Knigge Ost-West ging es empirisch. Man konnte sich auf Erfahrungen verlassen. Aber bei dem Lexikon der Ostprodukte musste ich ziemlich viel im Voraus sammeln. Der Fotograf und ich haben teilweise Etiketten gesucht und bestimmte Schachteln angesehen. Dann haben wir uns gegenseitig über die Produkte erzählt, um zu sehen, was wir mit ihnen verbinden, und um eine Botschaft herauszubekommen. Ich habe hier oben noch Schubladen voller Sachen behalten. Eine Zeit lang nach der Verfassung des Buches habe ich vieles weggeworfen, was natürlich Blödsinn war. Die Dinge waren das Ergebnis einer einjährigen Sammelei. Die war aber natürlich nicht die einzige Tätigkeit in diesem Jahr. Es ist parallel zu anderen Arbeiten passiert, und manches hat sich zufällig ergeben. Es hat vielleicht eine Ausstellung

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gegeben, und ich habe mir den Katalog mitgenommen. Es war am Anfang ein Hobby, und ist dann richtig ernst geworden, als genug Material da war. Twark: Jetzt, da die DDR nicht mehr existiert, gibt es die Chance, als Autor und als Mensch auf Ihre Vergangenheit zurückzuschauen, und das tun Sie auch ausführlich in Ihren Texten. Denken Sie, daß Sie dieses Thema jemals abschließen können, oder wird es immer in Ihren künftigen Texten eine Rolle spielen? Ulbrich: Die Beschäftigung als Thema mit dem Osten ist bei mir fast abgeschlossen. Was nie abgeschlossen sein wird, ist eine bestimmte Art, die Dinge zu sehen, weil man die Erziehung, die man genossen hat, und Erfahrungen, die man gemacht hat, nicht ohne weiteres abstreift, und auch nicht abstreifen will, ehrlich gesagt. Es gibt eine ganze Menge Erfahrungen, im Guten wie im Bösen, die mich nicht dümmer und auch nicht schwächer gemacht haben. Die habe ich vielleicht anderen voraus. Insofern kann ich mich darauf verlassen. Ich bin auch mit diesen Erfahrungen irgendwo angekommen und ganz glücklich. Deswegen möchte ich sie nicht über Bord werfen. Es ist nicht so, dass ich nach der Wende plötzlich ein anderer Mensch geworden wäre. Insofern wird wahrscheinlich die Betrachtungsweise langfristig anders werden. Aber die wird im Hinterkopf diese Anfangsgeschichten als Thema in kommende Zeiten mitnehmen. Mich langweilt es jetzt aber selber, ehrlich gesagt. Das wichtigste Kriterium ist: wenn der Autor sich selber langweilt, kann er nicht von seinem Publikum erwarten, dass es interessant findet, was er schreibt. Ich bin auch ganz froh darüber, dass mir die Hände nicht gebunden sind, und dass ich mich nicht auf diesen DDR-Fundus verlassen muss. Bei der praktischen Satire heute wächst mir jeden Tag etwas anderes zu. Ich lerne jeden Tag neue Leute kennen, die andere Erfahrungen gemacht haben. Beim Eulenspiegel zum Beispiel ist die Redaktion überwiegend westlich besetzt. Insofern sind dort schon andere Kriterien wichtig. Da erzählt man, was aus Westfalen kommt, und was dort wichtig ist, und wir vergleichen das mit dem, was mir wichtig war. Dabei kommt ein ganz anderes Ergebnis zustande, als ich allein bringen würde. Das ist sicherlich die Zukunft. Das klingt jetzt sehr harmonisierend, aber da ist gar nicht falsche Harmonie dabei, sondern einfach ein neues Ergebnis, sage ich ganz neutral – unerwartet mitunter. Twark: Das ist dann eine Art Synthese. Ulbrich: Das ist vielleicht eine Zwangssynthese, aber die ist vielleicht nicht die schlechteste, weil Leute auch unter Erfolgszwang gesetzt werden. Zu einem bestimmten Zeitpunkt muss das Ergebnis vorliegen, ob wir uns nun lieben oder hassen, zusammenraufen oder nicht, spielt gar keine Rolle. Also wir können sogar einen Text gemeinsam schreiben. Das habe

Interview with Reinhard Ulbrich

407

ich früher nie gemacht. Das verändert natürlich alle Beteiligten. Aber das ist auch gut so. "Nur wer sich ändert, bleibt sich treu," sagt Wolf Biermann. Das stimmt ja auch. Man ist tot, wenn man sich nicht mehr verändert. Insofern möchte ich noch eine Weile leben und mich ändern. Twark: Haben Sie vor, einen ernsthafteren Text zu schreiben? Zum Beispiel eine Reportage über Russland, weil Sie mir vorher gesagt haben, dass Sie unbedingt dorthin fahren möchten? Ulbrich: Ja, es spielt eine große Rolle, was heute an Veränderung im Osten stattfindet. Meine Familie und ich sind früher durch eine Menge Ostblockländer gereist, einfach aus dem Drang heraus zu reisen. Diese Veränderungen sind für mich deshalb hoch interessant. Ich leide auch teilweise mit den Leuten, mit denen wir früher eng verbunden waren. In Tschechien zum Beispiel bin ich immer hervorragend behandelt worden. Niemand hat mich gefragt, ob ich aus Westdeutschland oder aus Ostdeutschland komme, sondern ich war einfach ein Gast. Auf dem Lande insbesondere ist man mitgenommen und einfach wie ein Mensch, wie ein guter Gast, behandelt worden. In Rumänien habe ich erlebt, dass eine Familie gefordert hat, dass ich im Ehebett schlafe, und sie haben in der Küche geschlafen. Denen geht es heute noch dreckiger als damals – politisch nicht, aber die wirtschaftlichen Verhältnisse sind dort zum Teil schlechter als vorher. Diese Veränderungen beschäftigen mich schon, aber sie gehen eher in den journalistischen Bereich. Für mich ist das ein zweites Interessengebiet, der Journalismus. Es ist für mich eine Genugtuung, dass ich, ohne Journalistik studiert zu haben, doch dort angekommen bin. Twark: Können Sie die Unterschiede zwischen Ihren Lesern vor und nach dem Umbruch beschreiben? Haben sie sich auf irgendeine Art und Weise geändert, zum Beispiel, wie sie Ihre Bücher lesen oder kommentieren? Ulbrich: Das kann ich nicht so gut beurteilen. Vom Alter her sehe ich keine Unterschiede. Twark: In welchem Alter sind die meisten Leute, die zu Ihren Lesungen kommen? Ulbrich: Es gibt keinen Durchschnitt. Das ist das Komische. Es gibt eine ziemlich alte Generation—das sind die, die sich von der Ostalgie, von dem Titel des Buches angezogen fühlen und die sich in den schönen alten Zeiten nochmal sonnen wollen—und es gibt eine ganz junge Generation. Mein Alter fehlt eigentlich. Die ganz jungen halten das alles für ziemlich schräg und wollen sich nochmal mit diesem Ostkram beschäftigen. Das ist ganz lehrreich auch für mich, denn zu DDR-Zeiten ist es eigentlich vom Alter her richtig querbeet gegangen, weil dieses Reisezeug natürlich alle interessiert hat. Damals waren weniger Rentner dabei, weil sie sowieso

408

Appendix 5

überall hinfahren konnten. Die Humorspezifik kann ich nicht beurteilen. Die früheren Sachen, die Irlandgeschichte zum Beispiel, waren nicht satirisch. Twark: Gibt es Unterschiede in den Reaktionen der west- und ostdeutschen Leser auf Ihre Texte? Ulbrich: Ja [sagt er skeptisch]. Twark: Sind Sie richtig weit in den Westen gegangen, um Lesungen zu halten? Ulbrich: Eigentlich nur im Randgebiet. Im westlichen Westen war ich nicht richtig, weil ich keine Zeit dafür hatte. Es gab Angebote für zwanzig Tage in den Westen zu reisen, aber das wollte ich nicht machen, weil es anstrengend ist, jeden Tag in einer anderen Stadt zu sein, und weil zu der Zeit alle anderen Arbeiten liegen bleiben. Aber das ist die praktische Seite. Der Aspekt der Leser: es gab eigentlich erstaunliche Verwechslungen, dass die Reaktion im Westen hervorgetreten ist, die ich von den ostdeutschen Lesern erwartet habe. Ich habe deutliche regionale Unterschiede gesehen. Es ist zum Beispiel schwieriger, im Norden zu lesen. Ein Kollege von mir, Peter Ensikat, hat bei einer Lesung im Norden alle Stellen betont, wo Leute lachen sollen, aber kein Mensch hat gelacht. Nach der Lesung ist einer zu ihm gekommen, und sagte ihm: "Wissen Sie, Herr Ensikat, so wie heute habe ich lange nicht mehr gelacht." Das kann ich gut nachvollziehen. Ab Uckermark nördlich geht es mir so. Ich habe teilweise auch erlebt, dass die Westdeutschen meinen, die Ostdeutschen in Schutz nehmen zu müssen. Dann gab es natürlich die Gegenreaktion, dass die Ostdeutschen meinten, sie haben es nicht nötig, von der anderen Seite sich verteidigen zu lassen. Das waren absurde Vertreterkriege, die ausgefochten wurden. Man kann nur darüber lachen, wie die Leute sich gegenseitig beargen. Man ist mitunter befriedigt, dass man selbst der Auslöser dieser ganzen Geschichte war, und dass man das gesagt hat, was latent da gewesen ist. Das Lachen hat vielleicht die Funktion, zwischen zwei Ausbrüchen von Humor eine Botschaft transportieren zu können, die sonst so nicht sagbar ist. Die Leute öffnen sich dadurch und nehmen Dinge auf, die ihnen sonst eher abstoßend vorkommen würden. Twark: Vielen Dank für das Gespräch.

Works Consulted 1. Primary Literature Biskupek, Matthias. Der Quotensachse. Vom unaufhaltsamen Aufstieg eines Staatsbürgers sächsischer Nationalität. Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 1996. Braun, Volker. Der Wendehals. Eine Unterhaltung. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1995. Brussig, Thomas. Helden wie wir. Berlin: Volk und Welt, 1995. Hensel, Kerstin. Gipshut. Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 1999. Loest, Erich. Katerfrühstück. Leipzig: Linden, 1992. Rosenlöcher, Thomas. Die Wiederentdeckung des Gehens beim Wandern. Harzreise. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1991. Schirmer, Bernd. Schlehweins Giraffe. Frankfurt a. M.: Eichborn, 1992. Schulze, Ingo. Simple Storys. Ein Roman aus der ostdeutschen Provinz. Berlin: Berlin, 1998. Sparschuh, Jens. Der Zimmerspringbrunnen. Ein Heimatroman. Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1995. Ulbrich, Reinhard. Spur der Broiler. Wir und unser goldener Osten. Berlin: Rowohlt, 1998. 1.1 Matthias Biskupek 1.1.1 Primary Literature Biskupek, Matthias. Blumenfrau und Filmminister. Eine Estland-Mosaik. Berlin: Tribüne, 1988. ---. Das Fremdgehverkehrsamt und andere satirische Feuilletons. Greiz: Weisser Stein, 1992. ---. Das kleine DDR-Lexikon. Von Haushaltstag bis Reisekader. München: Piper, 2006. ---. Der Bauchnabel und andere schöne Mittelpunkte einer Reise zu zweit. Halle and Leipzig: Mitteldeutscher, 1988.

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---. Der soziale Wellensittich. Die grauenhafte aber erbauliche Geschichte vom Zusammenleben eines intelligenten Vogels mit einem von der Gesellschaft permanent überforderten Schriftsteller. Mit tierisch einfühlsamen Bildern des Ornithologen Ioan Cozacu, Gattungsname Nel. Schöneiche: Individuell, 2005. ---. "Der Verriß im Menschen." neue deutsche literatur 32.6 (1984): 118-125. ---. Die Abenteuer der andern. Geschichten. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1990. ---. Die geborene Heimat. Rudolstadt and Jena: hain, 1999. ---. Horrido, Genossen! Berlin: Eulenspiegel/Das Neue Berlin, 2004. ---. Leben mit Jacke. Geschichten. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1985. ---. Lob des Kaulauers und andere Für- und Widerreden. Essays aus zehn Jahren. Bucha: Quartus, 2007. ---. Meldestelle für Bedenken: Geschichten, Satiren und Grotesken. 2nd exp. ed. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1983. ---. "Post-Scriptum." neue deutsche literatur 38.7 (1990): 172-174. ---. "Post-Scriptum." neue deutsche literatur 40.9 (1992): 172-173. ---. "Post-Scriptum." neue deutsche literatur 40.11 (1992): 168-169. ---. Schloß Zockendorf. Eine Mordsgeschichte. Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 1998. ---. Schwarz angesagt und andere bestechende Gefühle. Monströse Märchen. Gera: Bezirksgruppe Gera der Pirckheimer-Gesellschaft im Kulturbund der DDR, 1989. ---. Streifzüge durch den Thüringer Kräutergarten. Leipzig: Faber & Faber, 2007. ---. Veröffentlichtes Ärgernis. Ill. Rainer Schade. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1987. ---. Was heißt eigentlich "DDR"? Böhmische Dörfer in Deutsch & Geschichte. Berlin: Eulenspiegel/Das Neue Berlin, 2003. ---. Wetterbericht. Humoresken. Ill. Peter Gaymann. Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 2002. ---. "Wilde Künstlerbücher, Milde Kunstkäufer, Wüste Stasidichter, Deutsche Verschriftungen. Ergänzungsbedürftige Gedanken zu einigen Aspekten selbstverlegter Bücher und Zeitschriften zwischen Lychener Straße im Prenzlberg und Karl-Marx-Städter Galerie 'oben' sowie deren bibliographische Nachbereitung im unbarmherzigen Lichte der Literaturgeschichte unter besonderer Berücksichtigung zweier Publikationen aus Gifkendorf und Berlin." neue deutsche literatur 40.7 (1992): 141-149. ---. Wir Beuteldeutschen oder wie ich zum Widerstandskämpfer wurde. Satiren, Glossen & Feuilletons. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1991. Biskupek, Matthias and Mathias Wedel. Streitfall Satire. Essay. Halle and Leipzig: Mitteldeutscher, 1988. ---. Urlaub, Klappfix, Ferienscheck – Reisen in der DDR. Berlin: Eulenspiegel/ Das Neue Berlin, 2003.

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1.1.2 Secondary Literature Bergmann, Gunter. Polyglott-Sprachführer: Sächsisch. München: Polyglott, 1992. Braun, Ernst. "Satirische Gutmütigkeit. Matthias Biskupek: 'Meldestelle für Bedenken.'" neue deutsche literatur 30.4 (1982): 150-152. "Biskupek backt Quarkkeulchen für 'Quotensachsen.'" Die Welt 2 October 1996: G6. Biskupek, Matthias and Jenssen. "Verlagsgutachten zu Mathias Wedel Ausverkauft: Kabarett in der DDR" 1988. BArch. DR1 3472b: 621-632. Eckart, Gabriele. "The Reclaiming of Saxony and its Dialect in Post-Wall East German Literature." Rocky Mountain Review (Spring 2006): 71-83. Fensch, Helmut. "Keine Zeit Genossen. Streit um ein Kabarettprogramm in Halle." Unterhaltungskunst 12 (1988): 15. Hofmann, Gret. "Vom Leben und Treiben in 'Literaturschlössern.' Matthias Biskupek: Schloß Zockendorf. Eine Mordsgeschichte." Berliner LeseZeichen 11/12 (1998): 102-103. Kamber, Peter. "Satire-Schule wider Willen. Satiriker Matthias Biskupek seziert kunstvoll und mit tödlicher Pointe neudeutsche Wirklichkeiten." Die Weltwoche 12 November 1998: 59. Kunze, Albert. 1000 und zwee Worde Säggsch. Leipzig: Bergmann, 1929. Leipprand, Eva. "Aufrecht geduckt. Biskupeks Bildnis des wendefreudigen Quotensachsen." Süddeutsche Zeitung 2/3 November 1996, IV. ---. "Bassda! Neue Biskupek-Satiren. Matthias Biskupek 'Biertafel mit Colaclops'." Süddeutsche Zeitung 5/6 August 1995: V2/46. ---. "Westmensch und Westwerdemensch. Matthias Biskupek: 'Das Fremdgehverkehrsamt'." neue deutsche literatur 41.3 (1993): 153. "Matthias Biskupek Homepage." 23 June 2007. 22 June 2007 . Michaelis, Jörg. "Ein sächsisches Stehaufmännchen. Matthias Biskupek: Der Quotensachse." Berliner LeseZeichen 10/11 (1996): 125. Müller, Roland. "Heitere Sommerstorys mit Esprit geboten. Review of Matthias Biskupek: Der Bauchnabel und andere schöne Mittelpunkte einer Reise zu zweit." Neues Deutschland 2/3 May 1987: 14. "Non scribere. Der DDR-Satiriker Matthias Biskupek im Gabelsberger 50 in München." Süddeutsche Zeitung 19 April 1988: 29. Pfeifer, Harald. "Streitfall Satire." Unterhaltungskunst 10 (1988): 23-24. (Review of Streitfall Satire by Biskupek and Mathias Wedel). Quilitzsch, Frank. "Die Wendungen des Mario Claudius Z." Berliner Zeitung 18/19 January 1997: 50.

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---. "Mörderischer Realismus. Ein satirischer Kriminalfall auf 'Schloß Zockendorf'." Berliner Zeitung 19/20 September 1998. ---. "Wie im Westen so auf Erden." Gespräche mit Schriftstellern und Liedermachern, Dichtern und Theaterleuten, Rocksängern und Pastoren 19911997. München: Kirchheim, 1998. 189-195. Reifarth, Gerd Thomas. "Can oil unite with water? Braun and Biskupek on German disunity." Relocating Germanness. Ed. Patrick Stevenson and John Theobald. Houndmills, UK et al.: Macmillan, 2000. 75-90. Reimann, Hans. Sächsisch. München: Piper, 1931. Scheffler, Ute and Gisela Oechelhäuser. "Verlagsgutachten zu Matthias Biskupek und Mathias Wedel Streitfall Satire" 1987. BArch. DR1 2194: 34-40. Schönewerk, Klaus-Dieter. "Über Zensur in der DDR oder Steine werfen im Glashaus. Autorenlesung und Gespräch im Liebknecht-Haus." Neues Deutschland 13 November 1991: 6. Schreck, Joachim and Stigge. "Verlagsgutachten zu Matthias Biskupek Meldestelle für Bedenken" 1980, 1981. BArch. DR1 3731. Twark, Jill. "Mathias Wedel and Matthias Biskupek: Two Satirists 'im Wandel der Wende.'" glossen 10 (2000): . ---. "Satireschreiben vor und nach der Wende: Interview mit Matthias Biskupek." GDR Bulletin 26 (1999): 45-53. Wedel, Mathias. "Mathematische Bosheiten. Matthias Biskupek: Leben mit Jacke." neue deutsche literatur 34.8 (1986): 156-160. Wüstefeld, M. "Zeitweilig auf dem Boden Thüringens stationiert." Signum: Blätter für Literatur und Kritik 1.2 (Sommer 2000): 120-121. (Review of Die Geborene Heimat). Zipser, Richard, ed. "Matthias Biskupek. Brief vom Januar 1993." Fragebogen: Zensur. Zur Literatur vor und nach dem Ende der DDR. Leipzig: Reclam, 1995. 65-69. 1.2 Volker Braun 1.2.1 Primary Literature Braun, Volker. Auf die schönen Possen. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 2005. ---. Berichte von Hinze und Kunze. Halle and Leipzig: Mitteldeutscher, 1983. ---. Bodenloser Satz. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1990. ---. Böhmen am Meer. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1992. ---. "Das Eigentum." Neues Deutschland 4/5 August 1990 and Die Zeit 33 (1990).

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1.2.2 Secondary Literature Albert, Claudia. "Diderots 'Jacques le fataliste et son maître' als Modell für Volker Brauns 'Hinze-Kunze-Roman'." Jahrbuch der deutschen Schillergesellschaft 33 (1989): 384-396. Arnold, Heinz Ludwig, ed. Volker Braun. Text + Kritik 55. München: edition text + kritik, 1977. Badia, Gilbert. "Über Volker Brauns Dramatik." Die Literatur der DDR. 1976-1986. Ed. Anna Chiarloni, Gemma Sartori, and Fabrizio Cambi. Pisa: Giardini, 1988. 347-354. Berendse, Gerrit-Jan. "Fünfundzwanzig Jahre politische Poesie von Volker Braun. Von einem heftigen Experimentator, der immer neue Wege sucht." Wirkendes Wort 3 (1991): 425-435. Brandt, Sabine. "Einmal ich, einmal er. Volker Braun ist sich selbst der beste Scheinwerfer." Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 14 June 1995: 40. Cosentino, Christine. "Ostdeutsche Autoren Mitte der neunziger Jahre: Volker Braun, Brigitte Burmeister and Reinhard Jirgl." The Germanic Review 71.3 (1996): 177-194. Cosentino, Christine and Wolfgang Ertl. "Das Hinze-Kunze-Motiv im Werk Volker Brauns." The Germanic Review 64.3 (1989): 168-176. Creutziger, Werner. "Die Kraft der Empfindlichkeit (4)." neue deutsche literatur 35.8 (1987): 114-128. Dart, Jonathan. "The Death of a Provocateuse: Some Thoughts on Volker Braun's Tinka." GDR Monitor 20 (Winter 1988/89): 65-79.

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De Vos, Jaak. "'Im gesellschaftlichen Interesse.' Chiffren der Subversivität in Volker Brauns Hinze-Kunze-Roman." Literatur und politische Aktualität. Ed. Ilrud Ibsch and Ferdinand Van Ingen. Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1993. 155-178. Domdey, Horst. "Manchmal blitzt etwas auf." Der Tagesspiegel 23 March 1995: S4. Dwars, Jens-Fietje. "Verstrickungen. Volker Braun: 'Hinze-KunzeRoman.'" Verrat an der Kunst? Rückblicke auf die DDR-Literatur. Ed. Karl Deiritz and Hannes Krauss. Berlin: Aufbau, 1993. 127-131. Eifler, Margret. "Berlin West-Berlin Ost: Ort politischer, filmischer und literarischer Dialektik." GDR Monitor 19 (Summer 1988): 27-40. Engler, Jürgen. "Zu Volker Braun: Berichte von Hinze und Kunze." Weimarer Beiträge 30.12 (1984): 2077-2082. Fiedler, Theodore. "Trauma, Mourning, Laughter: Volker Braun's Response to the Wende." Colloquia Germanica 30.4 (1997): 335-347. Funke, Christoph. "Ideologie-Schnipsel. 'Der Wendehals' von Volker Braun. Matinee im Deutschen Theater." Der Tagesspiegel 4 October 1993: 13. Grant, Colin B. Communication from Consensus to Rupture: Practice and Theory in Honecker's GDR. Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1995. Görner, Rüdiger. "Findlinge vor Endmoränen: Volker Brauns Unterhaltung über den Wendehals." Neue Zürcher Zeitung. Internationale Ausgabe Fouilleton 11 May 1995: 35. Grauert, Wilfried. Ästhetische Modernisierung in der DDR-Literatur: Zu Texten Volker Brauns aus den achtziger Jahren. Bremen: Institut für kulturwissenschaftliche Deutschlandstudien an der Universität Bremen, 1992. ---. "Houellebecqs Ekel und Brauns Neugier." neue deutsche literatur 50.1 (2002): 64-77. ---. "Nach der Natur leben. Zivilisationskritik in Volker Brauns Der Wendehals." In Rolf Jucker, ed. Volker Braun in Perspective. 137-156. Hage, Volker. Propheten im eigenen Land. Auf der Suche nach der deutschen Literatur. München: DTV, 1999. Halter, Martin. "Abgewickelt im Kaufhaus des Westens. Die Ohnmacht bleibt sprachlos – Volker Brauns Unterhaltung 'Der Wendehals'." Stuttgarter Zeitung 7 June 1995: 25. Heukenkamp, Ursula, Hans Kaufmann, Siegfried Rönisch, and Bernd Schick. "'Hinze-Kunze-Roman' von Volker Braun." Weimarer Beiträge 32.5 (1986): 830-845. Hildebrandt, Dieter. "Letzte Lockerung des Wendehalses. Volker Braun wandert noch einmal zwischen Ost und West und zeigt seine WendeWunden." Die Zeit. Literatur zur Leipziger Buchmesse 24 March 1995: 77.

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Mensing, Kolja. "Stumpfer Spiegel und billige Katharsis. Das Gorki erhöht den Solidarbeitrag, am Deutschen Theater werden Bananen geschält: Der Zimmerspringbrunnen und Helden wie wir an Berliner Bühnen." Grauzone. Zeitschrift über Neue Literatur 9/10 January 1997: 44-47. Neubauer, Michael. "Ein abgewickelter Angestellter, der vom Zufall geküsst wird." Berliner Morgenpost 23/24 September 1995. Opitz, Michael. "Heimatsymbol für die Blumenecke. Jens Sparschuhs satirische Geschichte vom verschwundenen Land: 'Der Zimmerspringbrunnen'." Freitag 17 November 1995: 18. Platthaus, Andreas. "Nun plätschert es wieder. Aufbau Ost: Jens Sparschuh installiert einen Zimmerspringbrunnen." Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 14 December 1995: 34. Rieger, Manfred. "Atlantis ist Trumpf. Jens Sparschuhs Roman 'Der Zimmerspringbrunnen'." Kölner Stadt-Anzeiger 20 October 1995: 9. ---. "Ein 'Ossi' als Verkaufs-Genie." Rheinische Post 6 January 1996. Schoder, Gabriele. "Das leise plätschernde Nein. Jens Sparschuhs Heimat, Vertreter- und Beziehungsroman 'Der Zimmerspringbrunnen'." Badische Zeitung 23 September 1995: Bücher 4. Schott, Christiane. "Der Handlungsreisende. Jens Sparschuhs 'Zimmerspringbrunnen'." Neue Zürcher Zeitung Internationale Ausgabe 28 September 1995: 35. Schreiber, Susanne. "Die Marktwirtschaft und der pfiffige Ossi. 'Der Zimmerspringbrunnen' im Maxim Gorki Theater." Handelsblatt 20/21 September 1996. Sprang, Stefan. "Not eines Handlungsreisenden. Jens Sparschuhs irrwitzige Ost-West-Burleske 'Der Zimmerspringbrunnen'." Rheinischer Merkur 8 September 1995: 36. Stadelmaier, Gerhard. "Ossi fließt oder Das Chamäleon macht sich naß. Bad in der Nische: Jens Sparschuhs 'Zimmerspringbrunnen' im Berliner Maxim-Gorki-Theater von Oliver Reese uraufgeführt." Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 14 September 1996: 35. "Über die Auswüchse der DDR-Nostalgie. Uraufführung von Jens Sparschuhs 'Der Zimmerspringbrunnen' am Maxim Gorki Theater." Der Tagesspiegel 1 September 1996. Twark, Jill. "'Ko…Ko…Konolialismus,' said the giraffe: Humorous and Satirical Responses to German Unification." (See 1.6.2). Vormweg, Heinrich. "Heimatroman mit Widerhaken. Jens Sparschuh und das deutsche Selbstgefühl in Ost und West." Süddeutsche Zeitung 7/8 October 1995: IV. Weinberger, Jutta. "Gelungene Satire." Buchreport 27 March 1997: 34.

438

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Wille, Franz. "Das Drama und die Lebensfragen. Eine Reise zu Thomas Hürlimann, Elfriede Jelinek, Gustav Ernst, Wolfgang Maria Bauer, Moritz Rinke, Jens Sparschuh und Ulrich Zieger." Theater heute 11 (1996): 29-34. "Zwischen Spreewaldgurken und FDJ Hemden. Altarecken mit Atlantis." Handelsblatt 17/18 November 1995: G7. 1.10 Reinhard Ulbrich 1.10.1 Primary Literature Ulbrich, Reinhard. Kleines Lexikon Grosser Ostprodukte. 2nd ed. München: Econ, 1996. (orig. Köthen: Micado, 1996). ---. Knigge für Deutsche: Über den Umgang mit Ostmenschen/Westmenschen. Ein Wendebuch. Köthen: Micado, 1998. Ulbrich, Reinhard and Andreas Kämper. Grüner Pfeil und Rennpappe: Ein ostdeutsches Fahrtenbuch. München: Econ, 1999. ---. Sandmännchen im Trabi-Land: Das Ostalgie-Kultbuch. 2nd ed. München: Econ, 1997. ---. Von Ardenne bis Zitterbacke. Ein satirisches Lexikon für nostalgische Ossis und neugierige Wessis. Berlin: Edition Ost, 1999. 1.10.2 Secondary Literature Baumm, Dorothea. "Von Konsum bis Putzi." Lübecker Nachrichten 4 July 1998: 29. B.S. "Gewerbeparks und Sättigungsbeilagen." Schwäbische Zeitung 19 February 1999. Ensikat, Peter. "Die Spur der Broiler." Berliner Zeitung 5 February 1998. Hamacher, Stephan. "Brathänchen als höchstes Glück. 'Spur der Broiler': Reinhard Ulbrich und der 'goldene Osten'." Harburger Anzeigen und Nachrichten. Hamburg-Harburg 14 February 1998: NI. Janert, Josefine. "Sie bremsen auch für Wessis. Endlich gibt es einen deutsch-deutschen Vereinigungsknigge." Der Tagesspiegel N.D. 1998: W6. "Mit Anstand nach drüben. Buch mit Benimmregeln für Ost und West erschienen." Schweriner Volkszeitung 30 September 1998. Murena, Hanno. Review of Reinhard Ulbrich Knigge für Deutsche. Deutsche Welle Literatur Online 21 April 1999. 6 July 2000 .

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Schumac, D. "Als der Broiler Verheißung war. Autor Ulbrich stellte sein neues Buch vor." Ostsee-Zeitung 19 February 1998: NVI. "Verhärmte Ossis und Besserwessis. Berliner Autor schrieb Wendeknigge/Deutsche Ost und West wissen wenig voneinander." Schweriner Volkszeitung online 15 February 1999. 6 July 2000 .

2. Additional Postwall Primary and Secondary Literature 2.1 Humorous and Satirical Texts from Eastern Germany Andert, Reinhold. Unsere Besten: Die VIPs der Wendezeit. Berlin: Elefanten, 1993. ---. Rote Wende: Wie die Ossis die Wessis besiegten. Berlin: Elefanten, 1994. Becker, Jurek. Wir sind auch nur ein Volk. Drehbücher der Folgen. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1994-1995. Branstner, Gerhard. Rotfeder: Die Todsünden des "realen Sozialismus" und andere Welterfahrungen. Essays und Glossen. Berlin: verlag am park, 1998. Brumme, Christoph D. Nichts als das. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1996 (orig. 1994). ---. Tausend Tage. Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1997. Burmeister, Brigitte. Unter dem Namen Norma. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1994. Constantin, Theodor, et. al. Das neue sächsische Schimpfwörterbuch. Berlin: Haude & Spener, 1991. Drescher, Horst. Regenbogenpapiermacher. Leipzig: Reclam, 1995. Endler, Adolf. Vorbildlich schleimlösend. Nachrichten aus einer Hauptstadt 19722008. Berlin: Rotbuch, 1990. ---. Die Exzesse Bubi Blazezaks im Fokus des Kalten Krieges: Satirische Collagen und Cappriccios 1976-1994. Leipzig: Reclam, 1995. Ensikat, Peter. Ab jetzt geb' ich nichts mehr zu. Nachrichten aus den neuen Ostprovinzen. München: Kindler, 1993. ---. Hat es die DDR überhaupt gegeben? Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1998. ---. Uns gab's nur einmal! Eine satirische Bilanz. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1995. ---. Wenn wir den Krieg verloren hätten. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1996. Erpenbeck, Jon. Aufschwung. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1996. Faktor, Jan. Die Leute trinken zuviel, kommen gleich mit Flaschen an oder melden sich gar nicht. Berlin: Janus, 1995. Fries, Fritz Rudolf. Der Roncalli-Effekt. Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 1999. ---. Die Nonnen von Bratislava. München and Zürich: Piper, 1994.

440

Works Consulted

Hart, Jürgen. Felix aus der Asche. Ende, Wende, wumm.... Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1996 (cabaret texts from the Leipzig Akademixer). Hein, Christoph. Das Napoleon-Spiel. Berlin: Aufbau, 1993. ---. Randow: Eine Komödie. Berlin: Aufbau, 1994. Hein, Jakob. Mein erstes T-Shirt. München: Piper, 2001. Heym, Stefan. Auf Sand gebaut. Sieben Geschichten aus der unmittelbaren Vergangenheit. Ill. Horst Hussel. München: Bertelsmann, 1990. Hilbig, Wolfgang. Alte Abdeckerei. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1993. ---. Ich. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1995. Königsdorf, Helga. Die Entsorgung der Großmutter. Berlin: Aufbau, 1997. ---. Gleich neben Afrika. Berlin: Rowohlt, 1992. Kusche, Lothar. Ost-Salat mit West-Dressing. Satiren und Humoresken. 5th ed. Berlin: edition ost, 1997 (orig. 1993). Lange, Bernd-Lutz. Es bleibt alles ganz anders. Deutsch-deutsche Wunderlichkeiten. Stuttgart and Leipzig: Hohenheim, 2000. Lange-Müller, Katja. Verfrühte Tierliebe. Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1995. Maelck, Stefan. Pop essen Mauer auf. Wie der Kommunismus den Pop erfand und sich somit selbst abschaffte. Berlin: Rowohlt, 2006. Mensching, Steffen and Hans-Eckardt Wenzel. Der Abschied der Matrosen vom Kommunismus. Berlin: Eulenspiegel/Das Neue Berlin, 1999. Mensching, Steffen. Pygmalion. Halle: Mitteldeutscher, 1991. Mickel, Karl. Lachmunds Freunde. Erstes und Zweites Buch. Göttingen: Wallstein, 2006. Oechelhaeuser, Gisela, ed. Von der Wende bis zum Ende. Berlin: Edition Hentrich/lansk mehr, 1990 (cabaret texts from "Die Distel"). Oertel, Joachim. Feindberührung. Das Ministerium für Satire (MfS) schlägt zurück.... Berlin: Tykve, 1995. Rathenow, Lutz. Sisyphos. Berlin: Berlin, 1995. Röhl, Ernst. Deutsch-Deutsch. Ein satirisches Wörterbuch. Berlin: Eulenspiegel/ Das Neue Berlin, 1991. ---. Der Ostler, das unbekannte Wesen. Geschichten. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 2000. ---. Fünf Jahre sind genug! Neue DDR-Witze. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1995. Scharsich, Dagmar. Die gefrorene Charlotte. Hamburg: Argument, 1993. Schmidt, Kathrin. Die Gunnar-Lennefsen-Expedition. Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1998. Schwarz, Stefan (pseudonymn Dusty). Der Dalai Leima und die glorreichen Sieben von Wendelow. Ein satirischer Report. Berlin: Espresso/Elefanten, 1994. Sichtermann, Barbara. Vicky Victoria. Hamburg: Hoffman und Campe, 1995.

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441

Tetzlaff, Michael. Ostblöckchen. Neues aus der Zone Frankfurt a. M.: Schöffling, 2004. ---. Ostblöckchen. Eine Kindheit in der Zone. München: Piper, 2005. Wawerzinek, Peter. Cafe Komplott. Eine glückliche Begebenheit. Berlin: Transit, 1998. Wedel, Mathias. Einheitsfrust. Berlin: Rowohlt, 1994. ---. Ihre Dokumente bitte! Von Angelschein bis Zufahrtberechtigung. Geschichten von tausendundeinem Ausweis. Berlin: Eulenspiegel/Das Neue Berlin, 1997. ---. Nicht mit Kohl auf eine Zelle! Pamphlete aus jüngerer deutscher Gegenwart. Berlin: Dietz, 1993. Wiechmann, Daniel. Immer bereit! Von einem Pionier, der auszog, das Glück zu suchen. München: Droemer Knaur, 2004. Wosniak, Reinhard. Sie saß in der Küche und rauchte. Halle: Mitteldeutscher, 1995. 2.2 Postwall Films Thematizing East(ern) Germany Alles Lüge. Dir. Heiko Schier. Screenplay Heiko Schier and Gerd Weiß. Perf. Dieter Hallervorden, Peter Fitz, Billie Zöckler, Franziska Matthus, Petra Hinze, Corinna Kirchhoff, Florian Martens, Ottfried Fischer, Uli Anschütz, Heino Ferch, Petra Kleinert, Ulrich Kuhlmann, guests Gunter Berger, Irm Hermann, Volker Spengler. Delta, 1991. Bis zum Horizont und weiter. Dir. Peter Kahane. Screenplay Oliver Bukowski. Perf. Wolfgang Stumph, Corinna Harfouch, Nina Petri, Gudrun Okras, and Heinrich Schafmeister. Progress, 1998. Das deutsche Kettensägenmassaker. Dir. and Screenplay Christoph Schlingensief. Perf. Karina Fallenstein, Brigitte Kausch, Susanne Bredehöft, Volker Spengler, Alfred Edel, Artur Albrecht, Dietrich Kuhlbrodt, Reinald Schnell, Irm Hermann, Udo Kier. DEM Film and RHEWES Filmproduktion GmbH, 1990. Das Leben der Anderen. Dir. Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck. Perf. Martina Gedeck, Ulrich Mühe, Sebastian Koch, and Ulrich Tukur. Buena Vista International, 2006. Der Zimmerspringbrunnen. Dir. Peter Timm. Screenplay Kathrin Richter and Rolf Hertwig. Perf. Götz Schubert, Simone Solga, Gustav-Peter Wöhler, Hermann Lause, Bastian Pastewka, Nina Franoszek, Christof Wackernagel, Thomas Gimbel, Christel Petersatz. Senator/Relevant, 2001. Go, Trabi, Go I. Dir. Peter Timm. Screenplay Peter Timm. Perf. Wolfgang Stumph, Marie Gruber, Claudia Schmutzler, Ottfried Fischer, Billie Zöckler, Dieter Hildebrandt. Bavaria Film, 1991.

442

Works Consulted

Go, Trabi, Go II: Das war der wilde Osten. Dir. Wolfgang Büld and Reinhard Klooss. Screenplay Crantz and Klooss. Perf. Rolf Zacher, Uwe Friedrichsen, Dietmar Schönherr, Jochen Busse, Wolfgang Lippert, Gunther Emmerlich. Constantin, 1992. Goodbye, Lenin! Dir. Wolfgang Becker. Screenplay Wolfgang Becker and Bernd Lichtenberg. Perf. Daniel Brühl, Kathrin Saß, Chulpan Khamatova, and Maria Simon. X-Verleih/ Berlin, 2003. Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Dir. John Cameron Mitchell. Screenplay John Cameron Mitchell and Stephen Trask. Perf. John Cameron Mitchell, Miriam Shor, Stephen Trask, Theodore Liscinski, Rob Campbell, Micheal Aronov, Andrea Martin, Alberta Watson, Micheal Pitt, Maurice Dean Wint. Killer, 2001. Helden wie wir. Dir. Sebastian Peterson. Screenplay Thomas Brussig, Markus Dittrich, Sebastian Peterson. Perf. Daniel Borgwardt, Adrian Heidenreich, Udo Kroschwald, Xenia Snagowski, Kirsten Block, Volkmar Kleinert, Renate Krössner, guest Gojko Mitic. Universum Film, 2000. Letztes aus der DaDaeR. Dir. Jörg Foth. Screenplay Steffen Mensching and Hans-Eckardt Wenzel. Perf. Steffen Mensching, Hans-Eckardt Wenzel, Irm Hermann, Christoph Hein, Täve Schur, Gerd Wolf, Andre Hennicke, Peter Dommisch. DEFA, 1990. NVA. Dir. Leander Haußmann. Screenplay Thomas Brussig and Leander Haußmann. Perf. Kim Frank, Oliver Bröcker, Detlev Buck, and Jasmin Schwiers. Boje Buck/Delphi, 2005. Sonnenallee. Dir. Leander Haußmann. Screenplay Thomas Brussig and Leander Haußmann. Perf. Alexander Scheer, Alexander Beyer, Katharina Thalbach, Teresa Weißbach, Detlef Buck, Henry Hübchen, Ignaz Kirchner. Studio Babelsberg/Boje Buck, 1999. Willenbrock. Dir. Andreas Dresen. Screenplay Laila Stieler, based on the Christoph Hein novel Willenbrock (Berlin: Aufbau, 2000). Perf. Axel Prahl, Inka Friedrich, Anne Ratte-Polle. UFA/Delphi, 2005. Wir können auch anders.... Dir. Detlev W. Buck. Screenplay Ernst Kahl and Detlev Buck. Perf. Joachim Król, Horst Krause, Konstantin Kotljarov, Sophie Rois. Boje Buck, 1993. 2.3 Secondary Literature on (and Humor in) Postwall Literature and Film Berger, Christel. "Viel Authentizität und Satire – Fragen, keine Antworten. Erinnerung an 'Morisco' und aktuelle Literaturbetrachtungen." Berliner LeseZeichen 1 (1994): 13-22.

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Biskupek, Matthias. "Der vereinnahmte Schriftsteller." DDR-Literatur: Angekommen in Deutschland? II. Uckermärkisches Literatursymposium. Angermünde. May 3-5, 1994. Ed. Kreisverwaltung Angermünde, Ehm-Welk-Literaturmuseum. Neubrandenburg: Uckermärkische Literaturgesellschaft, 1994. Boeger, Wilhelm and Helga Lancaster, eds. Von Abraham bis Zwerenz. Eine Anthologie. Berlin: Cornelsen, 1995. von Bormann, Alexander. "Gebremstes Leben, Groteske und Elegie. Zur Literatur in den neuen Bundesländern seit der Wende." Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte. Beilage zur Wochenzeitung Das Parlament 20 March 1998: 3139. Born, Sabrina. "Frei sein wollen und frei sein können: Die Wende und ihre Folgen in der deutschen Erzählliteratur." Magisterarbeit. Freie Universität Berlin. Wintersemester 1996/97. Böttiger, Helmut. Ostzeit/Westzeit. Aufbrüche einer neuen Kultur. München: Luchterhand, 1996. Brockmann, Stephen. Literature and German Reunification. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1999. Cooke, Paul. "From Opfer to Täter? Identity and the Stasi in Post-Wende East German Literature." In Martin Kane, ed. Legacies and Identity: East and West German Literary Responses to Unification. 51-66. ---. Representing East Germany Since Unification: From Colonization to Nostalgia. Oxford, UK: Berg, 2005. Cooke, Paul and Andrew Plowman, eds. German Writers and the Politics of Culture: Dealing with the Stasi. Houndmills, Basingstoke, England: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003. Cosentino, Christine. "Scherz, Satire und Ironie in der ostdeutschen Literatur der neunziger Jahre." Journal of English and Germanic Philology 10 (1998): 467-487. Cosentino, Christine, Wolfgang Ertl and Wolfgang Müller, eds. An der Jahrtausendwende. Schlaglichter auf die deutsche Literatur. Frankfurter Forschungen zur Kultur- und Sprachwissenschaft 6. Frankfurt a.M.: Lang, 2003. Costabile-Heming, Carol Anne, Rachel J. Halverson, and Kristie A. Foell, eds. Textual Responses to German Unification: Processing Historical and Social Change in Literature and Film. Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 2001. Degens, Marc. "ndl—neue deutsche literatur." satt.org 24 June 2004, 28 March 2006 .

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Emmerich, Wolfgang. "Deutsche Intellektuelle: Was nun? Zum Funktionswandel der (ostdeutschen) literarischen Intelligenz zwischen 1945 und 1998." After the GDR: New Perspectives on the Old GDR and the Young Länder. German Monitor 54. Ed. Lawrence H. McFalls and Lothar Probst. Amsterdam and Atlanta: Rodopi, 2001. 3-27. ---. Kleine Literaturgeschichte der DDR. 2nd rev. ed. Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 1996. Fischer, Gerhard and David Roberts, eds. Schreiben nach der Wende. Ein Jahrzehnt deutscher Literatur 1989-1999. Tübingen: Stauffenburg, 2001. Fröhling, Jörg et al. Wende-Literatur. Bibliographie und Materialien zur Literatur der deutschen Einheit. Frankfurt a. M.: Lang, 1996. Giesen, Rolf. Die großen Filmkomiker. Von 1945 bis heute. München: Heyne, 1993. Grob, Norbert and Karl Prümm. Die Macht der Filmkritik. Positionen und Kontroversen. München: edition text + kritik, 1990. Hake, Sabine. German National Cinema. London and New York: Routledge, 2002. Hartinger, Walfried. "Texte nach der Wende: Versuch eines Überblicks." Berliner LeseZeichen 6/7 (1995): 55-65. Hermand, Jost. "Diskursive Widersprüche. Fragen an Heiner Müllers 'Autobiographie'." Das Argument 35.198 (1993): 255-268. Howell, Tiffani Elan. "V/banished Identities: The Case of Eastern German Humor." Diss. U of California-Berkeley, 2004. Huberth, Franz, ed. Die Stasi in der deutschen Literatur. Tübingen: Attempto, 2003. Ibsch, Elrud und Ferdinand von Ingen, eds. Literatur und politische Aktualität. Amsterdam und Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1993. Igel, Oliver. Gab es die DDR wirklich? Die Darstellung des SED-Staates in komischer Prosa zur "Wende." Tönning: Der Andere, 2005. Isenschmid, Andreas. "Literatur nach der 'Wende' – die Situation im Westen." neue deutsche literatur 41.8 (1993): 172-178. Kane, Martin. "Bulletin of Selected Books: Germany." Review of Von Abraham bis Zwerenz. Eine Anthologie. Wilhelm Boeger and Helga Lancaster, eds. PEN International 46.2 (1996): 16-22 (Includes discussion of Bernd Schirmer and Matthias Biskupek). ---, ed. Legacies and Identity: East and West German Literary Responses to Unification. British and Irish Studies in German Language and Literature. Vol. 31. Oxford, et al.: Lang, 2002. Kraft, Thomas, ed. "aufgerissen." Zur Literatur der 90er. München und Zürich: Piper, 2000.

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Kraft, Thomas. "Franz Beckenbauer und der Realismus. Anmerkungen zur Erzählliteratur der neunziger Jahre." neue deutsche literatur 47.4 (1999): 123-141. Krause, Tilman. "Alles wird gut oder So tragisch sind wir gar nicht. Was ist neu an der deutschen Literatur seit der Wende von 1989? Ihre Verwestlichung." Die Welt 8 August 1998. 16 November 1999 . Ledanff, Susanne. "Die Suche nach dem 'Wenderoman' – zu einigen Aspekten der literarischen Reaktionen auf Mauerfall und deutsche Einheit in den Jahren 1995 und 1996." glossen 2 (1997) . Leistner, Bernd. "'Groß meine Mühe, würdevoll zu fliehn'. Ostdeutsche Literatur nach der 'Wende'. Ein Vortrag." neue deutsche literatur 47.2 (1999): 16-32. Lewis, Alison. "The Stasi, the Confession and Performing Difference: Brigitte Burmeister's Unter dem Namen Norma." In Cooke and Plowman, eds. 155-172 Marven, Lyn. Body and Narrative in Contemporary Literatures in German. Herta Müller, Libuše Moníkovà, and Kerstin Hensel. Oxford, UK: Clarendon, 2005. Monteath, Peter and Reinhard Alter, ed. Kulturstreit-Streitkultur: German Literature since the Wall. Amsterdam and Atlanta, Georgia: Rodopi, 1996. Naughton, Leonie. That Was the Wild East: Film Culture, Unification, and the "New" Germany. Ann Arbor, MI: U of Michigan P, 2002. Nause, Tanja. "How Life Becomes Literature: Uncovering the Principle of Writing in Three Novels by Fritz Rudolf Fries." German Life and Letters 58.3 (July 2005): 326-343. ---. Inszenierung von Naivität. Tendenzen und Ausprägungen einer Erzählstrategie der Nachwendeliteratur. Leipzig: Universität Leipzig, 2002. Peitsch, Helmut. "Zur Rolle des Konzepts 'Engagement' in der Literatur der 90er Jahre: "ein gemeindeutscher Ekel gegenüber der 'engagierten Literatur'"?" Schreiben nach der Wende. Ein Jahrzehnt deutscher Literatur 1989-1999. Ed. Gerhard Fischer and David Roberts. Tübingen: Stauffenburg, 2001. 41-48. Robinson, David, ed. No Man's Land: East German Drama after the Wall. Netherlands: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1995. Sadowski-Smith, Claudia. "Ostalgie: Revaluing the Past, Regressing into the Future." GDR Bulletin 25 (Spring 1998): 1-6. Schneider, Peter. The German Comedy: Scenes of Life after the Wall. New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giraux, 1991.

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Sich, Daniel. Aus der Staatsgegnerschaft entlassen. Katja Lange-Müller und das Problem humoristischer Schreibweisen in der ostdeutschen Literatur der neunziger Jahre. Frankfurt a. M.: Lang, 2003. Sich, Daniel. “Die DDR als Absurditatenshow – Vom Schreiben nach der Wende.” Glossen 21 (2005) . Skare, Roswitha. "'Real life within the false one': Manifestations of East German Identity in Post-Reunification Texts." After the GDR: New Perspectives on the Old GDR and the Young Länder. German Monitor 54. Ed. Lawrence McFalls and Lothar Probst. Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 2001. 185-205. ---. "Zeitgeschichte im Roman. Vom Sinn oder Unsinn des Wartens auf den Wenderoman." "Zeitenwende – die Germanistik auf dem Weg vom 20. ins 21. Jahrhundert." Akten des X. Internationalen Germanistenkongresses Wien 2000. Ed. Peter Wiesinger. Vol. 7. Jahrbuch für Internationale Germanistik, Reihe A, Kongressberichte. Vol. 59. 75-80. "Stasi als Thema in der Literatur." timms: Tübinger Internet Multimedia Server. ZDV Universität Tübingen 2005. 12 September 2006 . Stone, Marla. When the Wall Came Down: Responses to German Reunification. London and New York: Routledge, 1992. Symmank, Markus. Karnevaleske Konfigurationen in der deutschen Gegenwartsliteratur. Würzburg: Königshausen & Neumann, 2002. Taberner, Stuart. German Literature of the 1990s and Beyond: Normalization and the Berlin Republic. Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2005. Twark, Jill. "Humor and Satire in Post-Reunification Eastern German Prose." Diss. U. of Wisconsin-Madison, 2002. Wehdeking, Volker. Die deutsche Einheit und die Schriftsteller: Literarische Verarbeitung der Wende seit 1989. Stuttgart et al.: Kohlhammer, 1995. Williams, Arthur, Stuart Parkes, and Julian Preece. eds. German-Language Literature Today: International and Popular? Oxford, UK: Lang, 2000. 2.4 Postwar and Postwall German History Alter, Reinhard and Peter Monteath, eds. Rewriting the German Past: History and Identity in the New Germany. Atlantic Highlands: Humanities, 1997. "Berliner Stadtschloss." Wikipedia. Die freie Enzyklopädie. 3 February 2006. Wikimedia Foundation. 5 February 2006 .

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Dönhoff, Marion, et. al. Weil das Land sich ändern muß. 2nd ed. Reinbeck bei Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1993. Eigler, Friederike and Peter C. Pfeiffer, eds. Cultural Transformations in the New Germany: American and German Perspectives. Columbia, SC: Camden House, 1993. Eisenfeld, Peter and Günther Buch, eds. Dokumentation zum Staatssicherheitsdienst der ehemaligen DDR in 6 Teilen (I-VI). 1. November 1989 – 31. Oktober 1990. Part I. Berlin: Gesamtdeutsches Institut Bundesanstalt für Gesamtdeutsche Aufgaben, 1990. Fischer, Alexander and Manfred Wilke, eds. "Probleme des Zusammenwachsens im wiedervereinigten Deutschland." Schriftenreihe der Gesellschaft für Deutschlandforschung 43. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1994. Friedl, Gerhard, ed. Was ist los mit Deutschland? Neue Herausforderungen und Chancen für Politik, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. München: Olzog, 1995. Frink, Helen H. Women after Communism: The East German Experience. Lanham et al.: UP of America, 2001. Gauck, Joachim. "On German Thoroughness. Analyzing the 'Stasi' Files," Alexander von Humboldt Stiftung. 19 November 1999. 1 February 2001 . Grimm, Thomas. Was von den Träumen blieb. Eine Bilanz der sozialistischen Utopie. Intro. Heiner Müller. Berlin: Siedler, 1993. Grözinger, Gerd, ed. "Nur Blut, Schweiß und Tränen?" Probleme der Einheit. Marburg: Metropolis, 1991. Grunenberg, Antonia. Welche Geschichte wählen wir?. Hamburg: Junius, 1992. Hettlage, Robert and Karl Lenz. Deutschland nach der Wende: Eine Zwischenbilanz. München: Beck, 1995. Langguth, Gerd, ed. Die Intellektuellen und die nationale Frage. Frankfurt a. M. and New York: Campus, 1997. Lewis, Derek and John R. P. McKenzie, eds. The New Germany: Social, Political and Cultural Challenges of Unification. Exeter, UK: U of Exeter P, 1995. Meier, Charles S. Dissolution: The Crisis of Communism and the End of East Germany. Princetion, NJ: Princeton UP, 1997. Mosebach, Bernd. Alles Bewältigt?: Ehemalige Journalisten der DDR arbeiten ihre Vergangenheit auf. Frankfurt a. M. and New York: P.Lang, 1996. Müller, Michael and Wolfgang Thierse. Deutsche Ansichten: Die Republik im Übergang. Bonn: Dietz, 1992. (Christoph Hein, Klaus von Beyme, Thomas Meyer, Regine Hildebrandt et al.) Niven, Bill. Facing the Nazi Past: United Germany and the Legacy of the Third Reich. London and New York: Routledge, 2002.

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Paul, Ulrich. "Endgültig: Palast der Republik wird abgerissen. Parlament entscheidet mit großer Mehrheit." Berliner Zeitung. 20 January 2006. BerlinOnline. 5 February 2006 . Röding-Lange, Ute. Bezeichnungen für "Deutschland" in der Zeit der "Wende": Dargestellt an ausgewählten westdeutschen Printmedien. Göttingen: Königshausen & Neumann, 1997. Schwencke, Olaf, ed. "Kulturstaat Deutschland? Spektren und Perspektiven kommunaler Kulturarbeit der 90er Jahre." Loccumer Protokolle 75 (1990). Staab, Andreas. National Identity in Eastern Germany: Inner Unification or Continued Separation? Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1998. Thränhardt, Dietrich. Geschichte der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Rev. ed. Suhrkamp: Frankfurt a. M.: 1996. Watts, Meredith W. Xenophobia in United Germany: Generations, Modernization, and Ideology. New York: St. Martin's, 1997. Zelikow, Philip and Condoleezza Rice. Germany Unified and Europe Transformed: A Study in Statecraft. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1995. 2.5 Psychological Effects of German Unification on East Germans (Including Identity, Memory, Nostalgia, and Autobiography) Ahbe, Thomas and Michael Hofmann. Es kann nur besser werden. Erinnerungen an die 50er Jahre in Sachsen. Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 2001. ---. Wir bleiben hier! Erinnerungen an den Leipziger Herbst '89. Intro. Kurt Masur. Leipzig: Kiepenheuer, 1999. Bahr, Egon. Zu meiner Zeit. München: Blessing, 1996. Bisky, Jens. "Zonensucht. Kritik der neuen Ostalgie." Merkur 58.2 (February 2004): 117-127. Brie, Michael. Nostalgie: Die Sehnsucht nach der 'ANDEREN ddr.' Presseinformation Deutsche Shell Aktiengesellschaft, 1992. Broder, Henryk. Erbarmen mit den Deutschen. Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1993. Dahn, Daniela. Westwärts und nicht vergessen. Vom Unbehagen in der Einheit. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1996. Davis, Fred. Yearning for Yesterday: A Sociology of Nostalgia. New York: Free, 1979. Engler, Wolfgang. Die Ostdeutschen als Avantgarde. Berlin: Aufbau, 2002. ---. Die Ostdeutschen. Kunde von einem verlorenen Land. Berlin: Aufbau, 1999. "Es ist ein anderes Leben." Der Spiegel 39 (1990): 34-61.

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Gerlach, Manfred. Mitverantwortlich. Als Liberaler im SED Staat. Berlin: Morgenbuch, 1991. Jarausch, Konrad H., ed. and intro. After Unity: Reconfiguring German Identities. Modern German Studies Series. Vol. 2. Providence, RI: Berghahn, 1997. Knoblich, Axel, Antonio Peter, and Erik Natter, eds. Auf dem Weg zu einer gesamtdeutschen Identität. Köln: Wissenschaft und Politik, 1993. Kunert, Günter. Der Sturz vom Sockel. Feststellungen und Widersprüche. München: Hanser, 1992. Langelüddecke, Ines. "Wir Mauerkinder." Berliner Republik 6 (2001): 11 and . Maaz, Hans-Joachim. Der Gefühlsstau: Ein Psychogramm der DDR. Berlin: Argon, 1990. Meier, Christian. Die Nation, die keine sein will. München: Hanser, 1991. Misselwitz, Hans J. Nicht länger mit dem Gesicht nach Westen. Das neue Selbstbewusstsein der Ostdeutschen. 2nd rev. ed. Bonn: Dietz, 1996. Mühlberg, Dietrich. "Vom langsamen Wandel der Erinnerung an die DDR," Kulturation 1 (2003) and Verletztes Gedächtnis. Erinnerungskultur und Zeitgeschichte im Konflikt. Konrad H. Jarausch and Martin Sabrow, eds. Frankfurt a. M. and New York: Campus, 2002. 217-251. Müller-Thurau, Claus P. Die Sachsen kommen: Ein Psychogramm der neuen Macher. Hamburg: Rasch und Röhring, 1991. Panitz, Eberhard and Klaus Huhn. Mein Chef ist ein Wessi. Gedächtnisprotokolle 1992. Berlin: Spotless, 1992. Piontkowski, Ursula and Sonja Öhlschlegel. Ost und West im Gespräch. Zur Bedeutung sozialer Kategorisierungen in der Kommunikation zwischen Ost- und Westdeutschen. Münster: LIT, 1999. Rehmann, Ruth. Unterwegs in fremden Träumen. Begegnungen mit einem anderen Deutschland. München: Hanser, 1994. Schmitz, Michael. Wendestress: Die psychosozialen Kosten der deutschen Einheit. Berlin: Rowohlt, 1995. Schüler, Wolfgang. Die drei Raben. Berlin: Dietz, 2000. Woderich, Rudolf. "Dynamische Gelegenheitssucher und defensive Einfädler. Rudolf Woderich sprach mit Heinz Bude über Biographieforschung im neuen Osten und im alten Westen." Berliner Debatte INITIAL 2 (1996): 3-10. Woods, Roger. "The East German Contribution to German Identity." Studies in GDR Culture and Society 13. Ed Margy Gerber and Roger Woods. Lanham, MD: UP of America, 1994. 25-38.

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2.6 Primary Postwall Western German Literature Becker, Thorsten. Schönes Deutschland. München: Goldmann, 1996. Biermann, Pieke. Herzrasen. München: Goldmann, 1993. Brenner, Wolfgang. Welcome, Ossi!. Zürich: Diogenes, 1993. Delius, Friedrich Christian. Die Birnen von Ribbeck. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1991. ---. Der Spaziergang von Rostock nach Syrakus. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1998. Dikmen, Sinasi. Hurra, ich lebe in Deutschland: Satiren. München: Piper, 1995. Droste, Wiglaf. Der Barbier von Bebra. Hamburg: Nautilus, 1996. Gaus, Günter. Wendewut. Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1990. Grass, Günter. Ein weites Feld. Göttingen: Steidl, 1995. ---. Im Krebsgang. Göttingen: Steidl, 2002. Hofmeyer, Oliver. Sachsen: pauschal. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1998. Strauß, Botho. Schlußchor. München: C. Hanser, 1991. Timm, Uwe. Johannisnacht. Köln: Kiepenheuer, 1996. von Ditfurth, Christian. Die Mauer steht am Rhein. Deutschland nach dem Sieg des Sozialismus. Köln: Kiepenheuer, 1999.

3. Primary and Secondary GDR Literature 3.1 Primary, Mostly Humorous and Satirical Literature and Film Becker, Jurek. Jakob der Lügner. 7th ed. Rostock: Hinstorff, 1984 (orig. 1968). Biermann, Wolf. Deutschland. Ein Wintermärchen. Berlin: Wagenbach, 1972. ---. Die Drahtharfe. Berlin: Wagenbach, 1965. ---. Mit Marx- und Engelszungen. Berlin: Wagenbach, 1968. Braun, Johanna and Günter. Unheimliche Erscheinungsformen auf Omega XI. Berlin: Das Neue Berlin, 1974. De Bruyn, Günter. Buridans Esel. Halle: Mitteldeutscher, 1968. ---. Märkische Forschungen. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1979. ---. Neue Herrlichkeit. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1984. Die Legende von Paul und Paula. Dir. Heiner Carow. Perf. Angelika Domröse, Winfried Glatzeder, Heidemarie Wenzel. DEFA, 1973. Eulenspiegel. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1954-present. Fries, Fritz Rudolf. Alexanders Neue Welten. Ein akademischer Kolportageroman aus Berlin. Berlin and Weimar: Aufbau, 1982. ---. Der Weg nach Oobliadooh. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1966. Frischer Wind. Satirische Wochenschrift. Berlin: Buch und Bild, 1946-1954.

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Fühmann, Franz. Saiäns-Fiktschen. Leipzig: Reclam, 1981. Hacks, Peter. Amphytrion. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1969. ---. "Moritz Tassow. Eine Komödie." Ausgewählte Dramen. Berlin: Das Europäische Buch, 1985 (orig. Sinn und Form 1965). Hein, Christoph. Die Ritter der Tafelrunde. Eine Komödie. Frankfurt a. M.: Luchterhand, 1989. Jakob der Lügner. Dir. Frank Beyer. Perf. Vlastimil Brodsky, Erwin Geschonnek, Henry Hübchen, Manuela Simon, Armin Mueller-Stahl. DEFA, 1974. Kant, Hermann. Die Aula. München: Rütten + Loening, 1966. Kirsch, Sarah, Irmtraud Morgner, and Christa Wolf. Geschlechtertausch. Darmstadt: Luchterhand, 1980 (orig. with Günter de Bruyn, Blitz aus heiterm Himmel. Rostock: Hinstorff, 1975). Lange-Müller, Katja. Kaspar Mauser. Die Feigheit vorm Freund. Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1988. Morgner, Irmtraud. Leben und Abenteuer der Trobadora Beatriz nach Zeugnissen ihrer Spielfrau Laura. Berlin and Weimar: Aufbau, 1974. Müller, Heiner. Die Umsiedlerin oder Das Leben auf dem Lande. Berlin: Rotbuch, 1975 (orig. 1961). Neutsch, Erik. Spur der Steine. Halle: Mitteldeutscher, 1964. Novak, Helga M. Die Eisheiligen. Frankfurt a. M.: Luchterhand, 1979. ---. "Märkische Feemorgana." solange noch Liebesbriefe eintreffen. Gesammelte Gedichte. Ed. Rita Jorek. Frankfurt a. M.: Schöffling, 1999. 573-584. ---. Vogel federlos. Frankfurt a. M.: Luchterhand, 1982. Plenzdorf, Ulrich. Die Legende vom Glück ohne Ende. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1979. Rank, Heiner. Die Ohnmacht der Allmächtigen. Berlin: Das Neue Berlin, 1974. Spur der Steine. Dir. Frank Beyer. Screenplay Karl-Georg Egel. Perf. Manfred Krug, Krystyna Stypulkowska, Eberhard Esche, Johannes Wieke, Walter Richter-Reinick. DEFA, 1966. Strittmatter, Erwin. Ole Bienkopp. Berlin: Aufbau, 1963. Wolf, Christa. Was bleibt? Berlin: Aufbau, 1990. 3.2 Secondary Literature on GDR Satire and Related Modes Baum, Georgina. Humor und Satire in der bürgerlichen Ästhetik. Zur Kritik ihres apologetischen Charakters. Berlin: Rütten & Loening, 1959. Biskupek, Matthias and Mathias Wedel. Streitfall Satire. Halle and Leipzig: Mitteldeutscher, 1988. Brehm, Erich. "Die erfrischende Trompete." Taten und Untaten der Satire. Berlin: Henschel, 1964.

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Damm, Fritz, ed. Wir dekorieren! 40 Jahre politischer Witz in der DDR. Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer, 1990. De Wroblewsky, Clement. Wo wir sind ist vorn: der politische Witz in der DDR. Hamburg: Rasch und Rohring, 1990. Dexheimer, Carol Sue. Peter Hacks' Plays: Socialist Comedy in the German Democratic Republic. Diss. Brown University, 1977. Dietz, Hella. "Literaturdiskussion 'Ole Bienkopp': Sympathie für Wunschgetreu." Sonntag 2 February 1964: 10-11. Ebert, Günter. "Literaturdiskussion 'Ole Bienkopp': Poesie und Politik." Sonntag 19 January 1964: 11. Fritzsche, Sonja. Science Fiction Literature in East Germany 1949-1990. Bern: Lang, 2006. Guillet, Eric. Le roman picaresque en RDA. Bonn, et. al.: Lang, 1997. Haase, Horst. "Komisches und Tragisches in Erwin Strittmatters 'Ole Bienkopp'." neue deutsche literatur 12.3 (1964): 130-141. Herbert, Paul. "Den positiven Funktionär vergessen." Sonntag 26 January 1964: 11. Hoerning, Hanskarl and Harald Pfeifer, eds. Dürfen die denn das. 75 Jahre Kabarett in Leipzig. Leipzig: Forum, 1996. Holland-Moritz, Renate. Angeschmiert und Eingewickelt: Darüber lachte man in der DDR während der fünfziger und sechziger Jahre. Berlin: Dietz, 1996. Horst Gebhardt, ed. Kabarett heute: Erfahrungen, Standpunkte, Meinungen. Berlin: Henschel, 1987. Ilberg, Werner. "Front zwischen Büro und Feld?" Sonntag 5 January 1964: 10-11. "In der Hauptsache richtig verstanden. Vor dem Abschluß unserer Diskussion über 'Ole Bienkopp' sprachen wir mit Erwin Strittmatter. Sonntag 5 April 1964: 4. Jacobs, Dietmar. Untersuchungen zum DDR-Berufskabarett der Ära Honecker. Frankfurt a. M., et al.: Lang, 1996. Jaeger, Joachim. Humor und Satire in der DDR: Ein Versuch zur Theorie. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1984. Jung, Peter. Verordneter Humor: DDR 1953. Berlin: Edition Hentrich, 1993. Kersten, Heinz. "Stacheln und Pfeffer: Kabarett in der DDR." Deutschland Archiv 6 (1979): 568. Kloetzer, Silvia. Satire und Macht. Film, Zeitung und Kabarett in der DDR. Köln and Weimar: Böhlau, 2005.

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"Literaturdiskussion 'Ole Bienkopp': Weder Anarchist noch Spiesser. Weimar erlebte vor einigen Tagen im überfüllten Klub der Intelligenz einen anregenden Diskussionsabend. In Anwesenheit Erwin Strittmatters diskutierten Literaturwissenschaftler der nationalen Forschungs- und Gedenkstätten der klassischen deutschen Literatur in Weimar, Parteifunktionäre, Lehrer und Studenten über 'Ole Bienkopp'." Sonntag 15 March 1964: 6. "Literaturdiskussion 'Ole Bienkopp': Wer aber ist die Partei?" Gespräch im Berliner Club der Kulturschaffenden "Johannes R. Becher." Sonntag 16 February 1964: 10-11. Mara, Michael. "Scheu vor dem Risiko. Zur Situation des Kabaretts in der DDR." Tagesspiegel 31 December 1975: 4. Meyer, Barbara. Satire und politische Bedeutung: Die literarische Satire in der DDR. Eine Untersuchung zum Prosaschaffen der 70er Jahre. Bonn: Bouvier, 1985. Meyer-Gosau, Frauke. "Der Autor als lustige Person: Rückblicke auf Günter de Bruyn's Roman 'Neue Herrlichkeit'." Text + Kritik 127.7 (1995): 92-97. Mix, York-Gothart, ed. Ein "Oberkunze darf nicht vorkommen": Materialien zur Publikationsgeschichte und Zensur des Hinze-Kunze-Romans von Volker Braun. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1993. Mozejko, Edward. Der sozialistische Realismus: Theorie, Entwicklung, und Versagen einer Literaturmethode. Bonn: Bouvier, 1977. Nägele, Rainer. "Trauer, Tropen und Phantasmen: Ver-rückte Geschichten aus der DDR." Literatur der DDR in den siebziger Jahren. Ed. Peter Uwe Hohendahl and Patricia Herminghouse. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 1983. 193-223. Neilan, John. "Vitamin 'H', sprich: Humor. A Study of Humorous Literature in the German Democratic Republic (1949-1989)." M.A. Thesis. National U of Ireland-Galway, 2005. Nelken, Peter. Lachen will gelernt sein. Ein ziemlich ernsthaftes Buch über Humor und Satire. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1963. ---. "Die Satire―Waffe sozialistischer Erziehung. Ein Diskussionsbeitrag." Einheit 3 (1962): 102-113. Neubauer, Michael. "Romanwirrwarr in der Großstadt. Zum Boom der Berlin-Romane der neunziger Jahre." Grau. Zeitschrift über neue Literatur 9/10 (January 1997): 6-10. Neubert, Werner. "Gesellschaftliche Aufgaben, ästhetische Möglichkeiten der sozialistischen Satire." Dissertation. Institut für Gesellschaftswissenschaften beim ZK der SED Berlin, 1964. ---. Die Wandlung des Juvenal. Satire zwischen gestern und morgen. Berlin: Dietz, 1966.

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Plavius, Heinz. "Künstlerische Gestaltung der Widersprüche in Erwin Strittmatters 'Ole Bienkopp'." neue deutsche literatur 12.4 (1964): 187195. Poumet, Jacques. La satire en R.D.A.: Cabarets et presse satirique. Lyon: Pr. univ. de Lyon, 1990. Profitlich, Ulrich and Frank Stucke. "'Only Limited Utopias are Realizable': On a Motif in the Plays of Peter Hacks. Contemporary Theatre Review. 4:2 (1995): 49-58. Reumann, Kurt. "Der Sport bin ich – Ewald. Satire und Politik in der DDR." Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 12 February 1980: 4. Rieger, Manfred. "Sozialismus ist keine polizeiliche Notverordnung." Frankfurter Rundschau 24 March 1975: 16 ( Leipzig cabaret Pfeffermühle). Robinson, David W. "Christoph Hein between Ideologies, or, Where do the Knights of the Round Table go after Camelot Falls?" Contemporary Theater Review. 4:2 (1995): 79-86. Schacht, Ulrich. "Lachen als Aufbruch und Ausbruch: Zu einer Tagung über das Lachen in der Literatur der DDR." Deutschland Archiv 3 (1985): 309-311. Scherner, Erhard. "Echo aus Sonnenuntergangsrichtung. Zur Aufnahme 'Ole Bienkopp' durch die westliche Kritik." Sonntag 26 April 1964: 1415. Schubbe, Elimar, ed. Dokumente zur Kunst-, Literatur-, und Kulturpolitik der SED (1946-1970). Stuttgart: Seewald, 1972. Seyfferth, Konrad. Wer meckert, sitzt: Lachen im realen Sozialismus. Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1981. Strahl, Rudi. Der Schlips des Helden und andere heitere dramatische Texte. Berlin: Henschel, 1981. Wagner, Reinhard, ed. DDR-Witze: Walter schützt vor Torheit nicht, Erich währt am längsten. 2nd ed. Berlin: Dietz, 1995. Wedding, Alex. "Von einem Sonderling, der unser Leben ziert." Sonntag 1 March 1964: 14-15 (on Strittmatter's Ole Bienkopp). Wedel, Mathias. Ausverkauft: Ein gutes Dutzend Kabarett-Betrachtungen. Berlin: Henschelverlag, 1989. ---. "Zu den Funktionen von Satire im Sozialismus." Diss. Institut für marxistisch-leninistische Kultur- und Kunstwissenschaften bei der Akademie für Gesellschaftswissenschaften beim ZK der SED. Berlin, 1986. ---. "Zur Satiredebatte in den sechziger Jahren: Eine Studie zur Entfaltung einer zeitgemäßen Satireauffassung." Weimarer Beiträge 5 (1987): 749772.

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Wilhelm, Frank. Literarische Satire in der SBZ, DDR 1945-1961: Autoren, institutionelle Rahmenbedingungen und kulturpolitische Leitlinien. Hamburg: Kovač, 1998. Wolter, Manfred. Der vierzigfädige Tod. Satiren, Humoresken und Grotesken. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1977. Zak, Eduard. "Held des Übergangs. Erste Bemerkungen zu Erwin Strittmatters neuem Roman 'Ole Bienkopp'." Sonntag 1 December 1963: 9-10. ---. "Literaturdiskussion 'Ole Bienkopp': Zwischenbemerkung." Sonntag 8 March 1964: 9. 3.3 GDR History and Literary History Albrecht, Günter, et al. Meyers Taschenlexikon: Schriftsteller der DDR. Leipzig: VEB Bibliographisches Institut, 1975. Bammer, Angelika. "Trobadora in Amerika." Irmtraud Morgner. Texte, Daten, Bilder. Frankfurt a.M.: Luchterhand, 1990. 196-205. Bathrick, David. The Powers of Speech. The Politics of Culture in the GDR. Lincoln and London: U of Nebraska P, 1995. Baumgartner, Gabriele and Dieter Hebig, eds. Biographisches Handbuch der SBZ/DDR 1945-1990. München, et al.: K. G. Saur, 1996. Bittighöfer, Bernd. "Sozialistische Geschlechtsmoral und Erziehung der jungen Generation zu sittlich wertvoller Partnerschaft." Pädagogik: Zeitschrift für Theorie und Praxis der sozialistischen Erziehung 9 (1965): 791800. Bogdanow, O.S. and W.I. Petrowa. "Erziehung zum kultivierten Verhalten I." Ed. Siegfried Tielmann. Ganztägige Bildung und Erziehung 6 (1973): 194-196. ---. "Erziehung zum kultivierten Verhalten II." Ed. Siegfried Tielmann. Ganztägige Bildung und Erziehung 7 (1973): 228-230. Böske, Katrin, et al. Wunderwirtschaft. DDR-Konsumkultur in den 60er Jahren. Köln, et al.: Böhlau, 1996. Bronnen, Barbara and Franz Henny. Liebe, Ehe, Sexualität in der DDR. München: Piper, 1975. De Wild, Henk. Bibliographie der Sekundärliteratur zu Christa Wolf. Frankfurt a. M., et al.: Lang, 1995. Dennis, Mike. "The East German Ministry of State Security and East German Society during the Honecker Era, 1971-1989." In Paul Cooke and Andrew Plowman, eds. German Writers. 3-24. Dietrich, Gerd. Politik und Kultur in der Sowjetischen Besatzungszone Deutschlands (SBZ) 1945-1949. Bern, et. al.: Lang, 1993.

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Dueck, Cheryl. Rifts in Time and Space: The Female Subject in Two Generations of East German Women Writers. Amsterdamer Publikationen zur Sprache und Literatur 154. New York: Rodopi, 2004. Grassel, Heinz and Kurt R. Bach. Kinder und Jugendsexualität. Berlin: VEB Deutscher Verlag der Wissenschaften, 1979. Herminghouse, Patricia. "Literature as 'Ersatzöffentlichkeit'? Censorship and the Displacement of Public Discourse in the GDR." German Studies Review supplement (1994): 85-99. Höpcke, Klaus. "Wie es 1988 zum Ende der Buchzenzur in der DDR kam." Geordnete Verhältnisse. Streitbares aus dem Thüringer Landtag. Schkeuditz: Gesellschaft für Nachrichtenerfassung und Nachrichtenverbreitung, 1996. 203-216. Jäger, Manfred. "Das Wechselspiel von Selbstzensur und Literaturlenkung in der DDR." Ed. Ernest Wichner and Herbert Wiesner. Zensur in der DDR. Geschichte, Praxis und 'Ästhetik' der Behinderung von Literatur. Berlin: Literaturhaus, 1991. Köcher, Renate. "Schatten über Deutschland. Ostdeutschland glaubt nicht an die eigene Zukunft." Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 15 Aug. 2001, 5. "Kunst in der DDR. Eine Retrospektive der Nationalgalerie, Berlin, in Zusammenarbeit mit der Kunst- und Aussstellungshalle der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, Bonn," 2004, 23 July 2006 . Linklater, Beth. "Und immer zügelloser wird die Lust": Constructions of Sexuality in East German Literatures. Bern: Lang, 1998. Mählert, Ulrich. Vademekum DDR-Forschung. Opladen: Leske and Budrich, 1997. Merkel, Ina. Utopie und Bedürfnis. Die Geschichte der Konsumkultur in der DDR. Köln: Böhlau, 1999. Neubert, Rudolf and Rudolf Weise. "Das sexuelle Problem in der Jugenderziehung." Das aktuelle Traktat: Beiträge zum Sexualproblem. 2nd rev. ed. Rudolstadt: Greifen, 1955. Petuchow, N. and Hermann Schulz, et. al. "Inhalt und Methoden der sittlichen Erziehung." Diskussionsbeiträge zu Fragen der Pädagogik 1(1954). Berlin: VEV Volk und Wissen, 1954. 5-25. Pollack, Detlef. "Vollendung der deutschen Einheit: Kognitive Aspekte." Veröffentlichungen der Bundestagsfraktion der SPD. 2001. 28 January 2002 . Polte, Wolfgang, et. al. Unsere Ehe. Leipzig: Verlag für die Frau, 1968. Schädlich, Hans Joachim. "Export der Zensur." Über Dreck, Politik und Literatur. Berlin: Literarisches Colloquium Berlin/Berliner Künstlerprogramm des DAAD, 1992.

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Schauwecker, Wolfgang. "Fragen der Geschlechtserziehung in Mitteldeutschland I." Sexualerziehung in der UdSSR und in Mitteldeutschland. Hamburg: Akademie für Staatsmedizin, 1967. 11-31. Schichtel, Alexandra. Zwischen Zwang und Freiwilligkeit. Das Phänomen Anpassung in der Prosaliteratur der DDR. Opladen: Westdeutscher, 1998. Schnabel, Siegfried. Mann und Frau intim. Berlin: VEB Verlag Volk und Gesundheit, 1974. Schumacher, Ernst. Kahlschlag: Das 11. Plenum des ZK der SED 1965. 2nd rev. ed. Berlin: Aufbau, 2000. Schweickert, W.K. and Bert Hold. Guten Tag, Herr von Knigge. Ein heiteres Lesebuch für alle Lehrgänge über alles, was anständig ist. Ill. Gerhard Vontra. Leipzig: VEB Friedrich Hofmeister, 1959. Smith, Duncan. Walls and Mirrors: Western Representations of Really Existing German Socialism in the German Democratic Republic. Lanham et al.: UP of America, 1988. Sommer, Stefan. Lexikon des DDR-Alltags. Von 'Altstoffsammler' bis 'Zirkel schreibender Arbeiter'. Berlin: Schwarzkopf & Schwarzkopf, 1999. Starke, Kurt and Walter Friedrich. Liebe und Sexualität bis 30. Berlin: VEB Verlag der Wissenschaften, 1984. Vinke, Hermann, ed. Akteneinsicht Christa Wolf. Zerrspiegel und Dialog. Hamburg: Luchterhand, 1993. Walther, Joachim. Sicherungsbereich Literatur: Schriftsteller und Staatssicherheit in der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik. Berlin: Links, 1996. Weiß, Helmut. Verbraucherpreise in der DDR. Wie stabil waren sie?. Schkeuditz: Gesellschaft für Nachrichtenerfassung und Nachrichtenverbreitung, 1998. Wenzel, Siegfried. "Sozialismus gleich Mangelwirtschaft? Ein Beitrag zur Systemauseinandersetzung." Pankower Vorträge 14 (1999): 1-52. Wichner, Ernest and Herbert Wiesner, eds. Zensur in der DDR. Geschichte, Praxis und 'Ästhetik' der Behinderung von Literatur. Berlin: Literaturhaus, 1991. ---. "Literaturentwicklungsprozesse." Die Zensur der Literatur in der DDR. Suhrkamp: Frankfurt a. M., 1993. Zimmermann, Hartmut et al. DDR Handbuch. Vol. 2. 3rd rev. and exp. ed. Köln: Verlag Wissenschaft und Politik, 1985. Zimmermann, Susanne. Sexualpädagogik in der BRD und in der DDR im Vergleich. Gießen: Psychosozial, 1999. Zipser, Richard. Fragebogen: Zensur. Zur Literatur vor und nach dem Ende der DDR. Leipzig: Reclam, 1995.

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4. Other Primary Literature, Film, TV Programs, and Music Apuleius. The Golden Ass. Trans and Intro. P.G. Walsh. Oxford: Clarendon and New York: Oxford UP, 1994. Bachmann, Ingeborg. Undine geht, Das Gebell, Ein Wildermuth. Drei Erzählungen. Stuttgart: Reclam, 1984. Beckett, Samuel. Waiting for Godot. Tragicomedy in Two Acts. Trans. Samuel Beckett (New York: Grove, 1954 (orig. 1952). Böll, Heinrich. Die Verlorene Ehre der Katharina Blum. Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1974. Borchert, Wolfgang. Draußen vor der Tür und ausgewählte Erzählungen. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1956 (orig. 1947). Brecht, Bertolt. Baal. Der böse Baal der asoziale. Texte, Varianten und Materialien. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1973 (orig. 1918). ---. "Der aufhaltsame Aufstieg des Arturo Ui." Brechts "Aufhaltsamer Aufstieg des Arturo Ui." Ed. Raimund Gerz. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1983. ---. Flüchtlingsgespräche. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1961. ---. Me-Ti. Buch der Wendungen. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1965. ---. Werke. Ed. Werner Hecht, et al. Berlin and Weimar: Aufbau; Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1988-2000. Brown, Dan. The Da Vinci Code. New York: Doubleday, 2003. Brüder Grimm. Kinder- und Hausmärchen. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1971. Cervantes, Miguel de. Don Quixote of the Mancha. 62nd unrev. ed. Trans. Thomas Shelton. New York: Collier, 1969 (orig. 1605). Chwin, Stefan. Krotka Historia Pewnego Zartu [The Brief History of a Certain Joke: Scenes from East-Central Europe]. Cracow: Oficyna Literacka, 1991. Diderot, Denis. Jacques the Fatalist and His Master. New York: Oxford UP, 1999 (orig. Jacques le fataliste et son mâitre 1797). ---. "Rameau's Nephew." Diderot: Interpreter of Nature. Selected Writings. Ed. and intro. Jonathan Kemp. Trans. Jean Stewart and Jonathan Kemp. New York: International Publishers, 1938 (orig. 1762). Dürrenmatt, Friedrich. Der Besuch der Alten Dame. Zürich: Diogenes, 1998 (orig. 1955). ---. Die Physiker. Zürich: Verlag der Arche, 1962. Grass, Günter. Die Blechtrommel. Darmstadt: Luchterhand, 1959. Horace. The Satires and Epistles of Horace. 3rd. ed. Trans. and Intro. Smith Palmer Bovie. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1963. Erikson, Erik. Childhood and Society. New York: Norton, 1950. Fallada, Hans. Kleiner Mann, was nun? Hamburg: Rowohlt Taschenbuch, 1994 (orig. 1932).

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---. Bauern, Bonzen und Bomben. Hamburg: Rowohlt Taschenbuch, 1989 (orig. 1931). Faulkner, William. Go Down, Moses. New York: Vintage, 1990 (orig. 1940). Flaubert, Gustave. Bouvard et Pécuchet. Trans. and intro. Alban J. Krailshammer. Hammondsworth, UK and New York: Penguin, 1976 (orig. 1881). ---. Madame Bovary. Trans. Paul De Man. New York and London: Norton, 1965 (orig. 1857). Fontane, Theodor. Sämtliche Werke. Ed. Edgar Gross. München: Nymphenburger, 1959. Goethe, Johann Wolfgang. Sämtliche Werke nach Epochen seines Schaffens. Ed. Hartmut Reinhardt. München: Hanser, 1987. ---. Werke. Hamburger Ausgabe. München: Beck, 1988. Heine, Heinrich. "Harzreise." Sämtliche Werke. Vol. 5. Ed. Hans Kaufmann. München: Kindler, 1964. Hemingway, Ernest. In Our Time. New York: Scribner, 1996 (orig. 1925). ---. Men Without Women. New York: Scribner, 1955 (orig. 1927). ---. The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner, 1995 (orig. 1952). Hilsenrath, Edgar. The Nazi and the Barber (Der Nazi und der Friseur). Trans. Andrew White. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1971. Horn, Guildo. Danke! EMI Electrola, 1998. ---. Schön! EMI Electrola, 1999. Juvenal. The Satires of Juvenal. 3rd. ed. Trans. Rolfe Humphries. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1961. Kafka, Franz. "Josefine, die Sängerin oder Das Volk der Mäuse." Drucke zu Lebzeiten. Ed. Wolf Kittler, Hans-Gerd Koch, and Gerhard Neumann. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1994. 350-377. ---. Parables and Paradoxes. Trans. Willa and Edwin Muir. New York: Schocken, 1961. Kästner, Erich. Emil und die Detektive. Ein Roman für Kinder. Ill. Walter Trier. Berlin: Williams, 1932. ---. Emil und die drei Zwillinge. Basel, et al.: Atrium,1935. ---. Pünktchen und Anton. Ein Roman für Kinder. Berlin: Williams, 1932. Koeppen, Wolfgang. Der Tod in Rom. Stuttgart: Scherz & Goverts, 1954. Leiris, Michel. Glossaire, j'y serre mes gloses. Paris: Éditions de la Galerie Simon (Kahnweiler), 1939. Leroux, Philibert-Joseph. Dictionnaire comique, satyrique, critique, burlesque, libre et proverbial. Paris: Honoré Champion, 2003 (orig. 1718-1786). Letterman, David. Late Night with David Letterman. NBC, 1982-1993. ---. Late Show starring David Letterman. CBS, 1993-present. Lucian. Selected Satires of Lucian. Ed. and trans. Lionel Casson. New York: Norton, 1962.

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Mann, Heinrich. Der Untertan. Leipzig: K. Wolff, 1918. Mann, Thomas. Bekenntnisse des Hochstaplers Felix Krull. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1954. ---. Buddenbrooks. Berlin and Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1963 (orig. 1901). ---. Tonio Kröger. Frankfurt a. M.: S. Fischer, 1973 (orig. 1903). McCarthy, Cormac. The Stonemason. New York: Vintage, 1995 (orig. 1994). Melville, Herman. Moby Dick. Toronto et al.: Bantam, 1967 (orig. 1851). Montaigne, Michel de. The Complete Essays. New York: Penguin Classics, 1993 (orig. 1580). Pelevin, Victor. Omon Ra. Trans. Andrew Bromfield. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1996 (orig. 1991). Perec, Georges. La vie, mode d'emploi. Paris: Hachette, 1978. Petronius. The Satiricon. 2nd ed. Trans. William Arrowsmith. New York and Scarborough, Ontario: Meridian, 1987. Pulp Fiction. Dir. Quentin Tarantino. Screenplay Quentin Tarantino and Roger Avary. Perf. Samuel L. Jackson, Tim Roth, Uma Thurman, and John Travolta. Miramax, 1994. Raab, Stefan. TV Total. Pro 7, 8 March 1999 to present. Rabelais, François. Gargantua and Pantagruel. Trans. Burton Raffel. New York: Norton, 1990. Relihan, Joel C. Ancient Menippean Satire. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1993. Reservoir Dogs. Dir. Quentin Tarantino. Screenplay Quentin Tarantino. Perf. Harvey Keitel, Tim Roth, Michael Madsen, Chris Penn, Steve Buscemi, and Lawrence Tierney. Miramax, 1992. Roth, Philip. Goodbye, Columbus, and Five Short Stories. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1959. ---. Portnoy's Complaint. New York: Random House, 1969. Rudd, Niall. The Satires of Horace. 2nd ed. Berkeley and Los Angeles: U of California P, 1982. Salinger, J.D. Catcher in the Rye. New York: Little, Brown and Co., 1951. Sherbert, Garry. Menippean Satire and the Poetics of Wit: Ideologies of SelfConsciousness in Dunton, D'Urfey, and Sterne. New York: Lang, 1996. Schmidt, Harald. Die Harald Schmidt Show. SAT 1, 1995-2003. ---. Harald Schmidt. ARD, 23 December 2004 to present. Schneider, Peter. Der Mauerspringer. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt Taschenbuch, 1995 (orig. 1982). Short Cuts. Dir. Robert Altman. Screenplay Raymond Carver and Robert Altman. Perf. Bruce Davison, Andie MacDowell, Jack Lemmon, Julianne Moore, et al. Fine Line Features, 2004. Voltaire. The Philosophical Dictionary. Trans H.I. Woolf. New York: Knopf, 1924 (orig. 1765-1770).

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Wouk, Herman. Marjorie Morningstar. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1955. Wylie, Philip. Generation of Vipers. New York and Toronto: Farrar & Rinehart, 1942. Yanar, Kaya. Was guckst du? SAT 1, 2001-2005.

5. History of German Satire and Related Modes Altenhofer, Norbert. Harzreise in die Zeit. Zum Funktionszusammenhang von Traum, Witz und Zensur in Heines früher Prosa. Düsseldorf: Heinrich Heine-Gesellschaft, 1972. Arntzen, Helmut. "Deutsche Satire im 20. Jahrhundert." Deutsche Literatur im 20. Jahrhundert. Vol. 1. Ed. Herrmann Friedemann and Otto Mann. Heidelberg: Rothe, 1961. ---, ed. Gegen-Zeitung. Deutsche Satire des 20. Jahrhunderts. Heidelberg: Rothe, 1964. ---. Satire in der deutschen Literatur: Geschichte und Theorie. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1989. ---. Satirischer Stil bei Robert Musil. 2nd ed. Bonn: Bouvier, 1970. Allen, Ann Taylor. Satire and Society in Wilhelmine Germany. Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 1984. Baumgart, Reinhard. Das Ironische und die Ironie in den Werken Thomas Manns. 2nd ed. Frankfurt a. M. et al.: Ullstein, 1974 (orig. 1964). Berger, Karl Heinz, ed. Die Affenschande: Deutsche Satiren von Sebastian Brant bis Bertolt Brecht. 2nd ed. Berlin: Eulenspiegel, 1969. Best, Otto F. Volk ohne Witz: Über ein deutsches Defizit. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1993. Bieler, Manfred. Walhalla: literarische Parodien. Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1988. Brehm, Erich. Die erfrischende Trompete: Taten und Untaten der Satire. Berlin: Henschel, 1964. Brummak, Jürgen. Satirische Dichtung: Studien zu Friedrich Schlegel, Tieck, Jean Paul und Heine. München: Fink, 1979. Budzinski, Klaus, ed. Vorsicht, die Mandoline ist geladen: Deutsches Kabarett seit 1964. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1970. ---, ed. Was gibt's denn da zu lachen? Deutschsprachige Verssatire unseres Jahrhunderts. München: Scherz, 1969. Cardullo, Bert, trans.and ed. German-Language Comedy: A Critical Anthology. London and Toronto: Associated UP, 1992. Carels, Peter E. The Satiric Treatise in Eighteenth Century Germany. Berne: Herbert Lang, 1976.

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Chase, Jefferson S. Inciting Laughter: The Development of "Jewish Humor" in Nineteenth Century German Culture. Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 2000. Claßen, Ludger. Satirisches Erzählen im 20. Jahrhundert: Heinrich Mann, Bertolt Brecht, Martin Walser, F.C. Delius. München: Fink, 1985. Coupe, William A. German Political Satires from the Reformation to the Second World War. White Plains, N.Y.: Kraus, 1985. Danimann, Franz. Flusterwitze und Spottgedichte unterm Hakenkreuz. Wien: Bohlau, 1983. Deufert, Wilfried. Narr, Moral und Gesellschaft: Grundtendenzen im Prosaschwank des 16. Jahrhunderts. Bern: Herbert Lang, 1975. Einsporn, Petra-Maria. Juvenals Irrtum: Über die Antinomie der Satire und des politischen Kabaretts. Frankfurt a. M. et al.: Lang, 1985. Ekmann, Bjorn, et.al. "Die Schwierigkeit der Satire." Text & Kontext: Zeitschrift für germanistische Literaturforschung in Skandinavien. 37 (1996): 7169. Fritz, Jürgen. Satire und Karikatur: Fachübergreifender Unterricht in Deutsch – Politik – Kunst – Musik. Braunschweig: Westermann, 1980. Gamm, Hans-Jochen. Der Flusterwitz im Dritten Reich. München: List, 1963. Gaier, Ulrich. Satire. Studien zu Neidhart, Wittenweiler, Brant und zur satirischen Schreibart. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1967. Gelfert, Hans-Dieter. Max und Monty. Kleine Geschichte des deutschen und englischen Humors. München: Beck, 1998. Grimm, Reinhold and Jost Hermand, eds. Laughter Unlimited: Essays on Humor, Satire, and the Comic. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1991. Grimm, Reinhold and Walter Hinck, eds. Zur Komiktheorie und zur Geschichte der europäischen Komödie. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1982. Hanitsch, Dieter and Hans Dollinger, eds. Der doppelte Michel: Karikaturisten sehen ein Jahr "deutsche Revolution." München: Süddeutscher Verlag, 1990. Hessler, Hans-Werner, et. al. "Satire – das anstößige Programm. VII. Tutzinger Medientage an der Evangelischen Akademie Tutzingen." Tutzinger Materialien 54 (1988). Hillenbrand, F.K.M. Underground Humor in Nazi Germany, 1933-1945. London and New York: Routledge, 1995. Hirche, Kurt. Der "braune" und der "rote" Witz. Düsseldorf: Econ, 1964. Jennings, Lee Byron. "The Ludicrous Demon: Aspects of the Grotesque in German Post-Romantic Prose." Modern Philology 71 (1963): 1-214. Labroisse, Gerd, ed. Zur Literatur und Literaturwissenschaft der DDR. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1978. Lazarowicz, Klaus. Verkehrte Welt: Vorstudien zu einer Geschichte der deutschen Satire. Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1963.

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Mayer, Gerhart. Der deutsche Bildungsroman. Von der Aufklärung bis zur Gegenwart. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1992. Preisendanz, Wolfgang. Humor als dichterische Einbildungskraft. Studien zur Erzählkunst des poetischen Realismus. 2nd ed. München: Fink, 1976. Riha, Karl. Kritik, Satire, Parodie: Gesammelte Aufsätze. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1992. Rummel, Erika. Scheming Papists and Lutheran Fools: Five Reformation Satires. New York: Fordham UP, 1993. Saalmann, Dieter. "Irony as a means of illuminating the German-German mind-set." Humor. 3.3 (1990): 277-285. Schmitz, Rainer. Die ästhetische Prügelei: Streitschriften der antiromantischen Bewegung. Göttingen: Wallstein, 1992. Schuhmacher, Klaus. Paragraphie: Über das gedichtete Recht. Stuttgart: F. Steiner, 1992. Schwanitz, Dietrich. Das Shylock-Syndrom, oder Die Dramaturgie der Barbarei. Frankfurt a. M.: Eichborn, 1997. "Sei schlau, hab Spaß," Der Spiegel 8. 19 February 1996. 170-184. Van der Will, Wilfried. Pikaro Heute: Metamorphosen des Schelms bei Thomas Mann, Döblin, Brecht, Grass. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1967. Wellmanns, Günter Theodor. Studien zur deutschen Satire im Zeitalter der Aufklärung. Theorie – Stoffe – Form und Stil. Diss. Rheinische-FriedrichWilhelms-Universität Bonn, 1969. München: Schön: 1969.

6. General Secondary Literature on Satire and Related Modes Alleman, Beda. "Aufriß des ironischen Spielraums." Ironie als literarisches Phänomen. Ed. Hans-Egon Hass and Gustav-Adolph Mohrlüder. Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1973. 39-46. Aristotle. The Rhetoric and the Poetics. Trans. Rhys Roberts and Ingram Bywater. Intro. Edward P.J. Corbett. New York: Modern Library, 1984 (orig. 1954). Bakhtin, Mikhail. Rabelais and His World. Trans. Hélène Iswolsky. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1984. Bauer, Matthias. Im Fuchsbau der Geschichten. Anatomie des Schelmenromans. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1993. Bauer, Matthias. Der Schelmenroman. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1994. Berger, Peter L. Redeeming Laughter. Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1998. Bergson, Henri. "Laughter." Comedy: An Essay [by] George Meredith and Laughter [by] Henri Bergson. Ed. Wylie Sypher. Garden City, NY: Doubleday Anchor, 1956 (orig. Paris: F. Alcan, 1900).

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Billington, Sandra. A Social History of the Fool. New York: St. Martin's, 1984. Bjornson, Richard. The Picaresque Hero in European Fiction. Madison: U of Wisconsin P, 1977. Bloch, Ernst. Das Prinzip Hoffnung. Berlin: Aufbau, 1955. ---. Spuren. Rev. ed. Berlin and Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1959. Bogdal, Klaus-Micheal and Rüdiger Scholz, ed. Literaturtheorie und Geschichte: Zur Diskussion materialistischer Literaturwissenschaft. Opladen: Westdeutscher, 1996. Bogdal, Klaus-Micheal. Neue Literaturtheorien: Eine Einführung. 2nd ed. Opladen: Westdeutscher, 1997. Booth, Wayne C. A Rhetoric of Irony. Chicago and London: U of Chicago P, 1974. Bost, Harald. Der Weltschmerzler. Ein Literarischer Typus und seine Motive. St. Ingbert: Röhrig UP, 1994. Brummack, Jürgen. "Zu Begriff und Theorie der Satire." Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte. Sonderheft 45:5 (1971): 275-377. Chamberlain, Lori. "Bombs and Other Exciting Devices: Or, The Problem of Teaching Irony." Reclaiming Pedagogy: The Rhetoric of the Classroom. Ed. Patricia Donahue and Ellen Quandahl (Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois UP, 1989) 97-112. Cohen, Hermann. Ästhetik des reinen Gefühls. Berlin: Cassirer, 1912. Connery, Brian A. and Kirk Combe, eds. Theorizing Satire: Essays in Literary Criticism. New York: St. Martin's, 1995. Dietzsch, Steffen, ed. Luzifer Lacht: Philosophische Betrachtungen von Nietzsche bis Tabori. Leipzig: Reclam, 1993. Dundes, Alan. Cracking Jokes: Studies of Sick Humor Cycles & Stereotypes. Berkeley: Ten Speed, 1987. Elliot, Robert C. The Power of Satire: Magic, Ritual, Art. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1960. ---. "The Definition of Satire: A Note on Method." Yearbook of Comparative and General Literature 11 (1962): 22. ---. The Shape of Utopia: Studies in a Literary Genre. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1970. Esslin, Martin. The Theatre of the Absurd. 3rd ed. London: Methuen, 2001 (orig. 1961). Fabian, Bernhard, ed. Satvra. Ein Kompendium moderner Studien zur Satire. Hildesheim and New York: Georg Olms, 1975. Feinberg, Leonard. Introduction to Satire. Ames, IA: Iowa State UP, 1967. Freud, Sigmund. Der Witz und seine Beziehung zum Unbewussten/Der Humor. Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer, 1992.

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Fulda, Hans Friedrich and Dieter Heinrich, eds. Materialien zu Hegels "Phänomenologie des Geistes. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1973. Glasgow, Rupert. Madness, Masks and Laughter: An Essay on Comedy. Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson UP, 1995. Gottlieb, Erika. Dystopian Fiction East and West: Universe of Terror and Trial. Montreal: McGill-Queen's UP, 2001. Gottsched, Johann Christoph. Versuch einer Critischen Dichtkunst. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1977 (orig. 1730). Griffin, Dustin. Satire: A Critical Reintroduction. Lexington, KY: UP of Kentucky, 1994. Guillén, Claudio. The Anatomies of Roguery: A Comparative Study in the Origins and the Nature of Picaresque Literature. New York: Garland, 1987. Guthke, Karl S. Die moderne Tragikomödie: Theorie und Gestalt. Trans. Gerhard Raabe. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1968. Harpham, Geoffrey Galt. On the Grotesque: Strategies of Contradiction in Art and Literature. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1982. Hantsch, Ingrid. Semiotik des Erzählens. Studien zum satirischen Roman des 20. Jahrhunderts. München: Fink, 1975. Hass, Hans-Egon and Gustav-Adolph Mohrlüder, eds. Ironie als literarisches Phänomen. Köln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1973. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. Phänomenologie des Geistes. 6th ed. Ed. Johannes Hoffmeister. Hamburg: Meiner, 1952. ---. Hegel's Philosophy of Right. Trans. Thomas Knox. Oxford, UK: Clarendon, 1953. Heidsieck, Arnold. Das Groteske und das Absurde im modernen Theater. Stuttgart, et. al.: Kohlhammer, 1969. Hill, Carl. The Soul of Wit: Joke Theory from Grimm to Freud. Lincoln and London: U of Nebraska P, 1993. Hill, Linda M. Language as Aggression: Studies in the Postwar Drama. Bonn: Bouvier, 1976. Hobbes, Thomas. The English Works of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury. Vol. 3. Ed. Sir William Molesworth. London: John Bohm, 1839; repr. Aalen, Germany: Scientia, 1966. Hoffmeister, Gerhart. Der moderne deutsche Schelmenroman. Interpretationen. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1985/1986. Hunt, Irmgard Elsner. "Erinnerung an die Zukunft. Über das utopische Moment in der deutschen 'Wendeliteratur'." Zeitgenössische Utopieentwürfe in Literatur und Gesellschaft. Zur Kontroverse seit den achtziger Jahren. Ed. Rolf Jucker. Amsterdamer Beiträge zur neueren Germanistik. Vol. 41. Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1997. 191-207.

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Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms. New York and London: Methuen, 1985. ---. Irony's Edge: The Theory and Politics of Irony. London and New York: Routledge, 1994. Jacobs, Naomi. "The Frozen Landscape in Women's Utopian and Science Fiction," Utopian and Science Fiction by Women: Worlds of Difference. Ed. Jane L. Donawerth and Carol A. Kolmerton. New York: Syracuse, 1994. 190-202. Jauss, Hans Robert. "Über den Grund des Vergnügens am komischen Helden." In Wolfgang Preisendanz and Rainer Warning, eds. Das Komische. 103-132. Kamper, Dietmar and Christoph Wulf, eds. Lachen - Gelächter - Lächeln: Reflexionen in drei Spiegeln. Frankfurt a.M.: Syndikat, 1986. Kant, Immanuel. "Kritik der Urteilskraft." Werke in sechs Bänden. Vol. 5. Ed. Wilhelm Weischedel. Wiesbaden: Insel, 1957. Karrer, Wolfgang. Parodie, Travestie, Pastiche. München: Fink, 1977. Kamper, Dietmar and Christoph Wulf, ed. Lachen – Gelächter – Lächeln: Reflexionen in drei Spiegeln. Frankfurt a. M.: Syndikat, 1986. Kayser, Wolfgang. The Grotesque in Art and Literature. Trans. Ulrich Weisstein. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1966 (orig. 1957). Kernan, Alvin B. The Plot of Satire. New Haven: Yale UP, 1965. Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim. "Vierzehntes Stück" and "Neunundzwanzigstes Stück." Hamburgische Dramaturgie. Ed. Klaus L. Berghahn. Stuttgart: Reclam, 1999. Levitas, Ruth. "Utopia as Literature, Utopia as Politics." In Rolf Jucker, ed. Zeitgenössische Utopieentwürfe in Literatur und Gesellschaft. Zur Kontroverse seit den achtziger Jahren. 121-137. Lukácz, Georg. "Zur Frage der Satire." Über Poesie und Weiteres oder das Komma im Frack und anderes. Ed. Hans-Georg Werner. Halle and Leipzig: Mitteldeutscher, 1981 (orig. 1932). Jucker, Rolf, ed. Zeitgenössische Utopieentwürfe in Literatur und Gesellschaft. Zur Kontroverse seit den achtziger Jahren. Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA: Rodopi, 1997. Jünger, Friedrich Georg. Über das Komische. Frankfurt a. M.: Klostermann, 1948. Liu, Fuchang. "Humor as violations of the reality principle." Humor 8.2 (1995): 177-190. Marcuse, Herbert. Der eindimensionale Mensch. Neuwied: Luchterhand, 1967. Martini, Fritz. "Ironischer Realismus: Keller, Raabe und Fontane." Ironie und Dichtung. Ed. Albert Schaefer. München: Beck, 1970. 113-143. Meyer, Theodor A. Ästhetik. Stuttgart: F. Enke, 1925.

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Müller, Götz. Gegenwelten. Die Utopie in der deutschen Literatur. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1989. Nilsen, Don F. L. "The Importance of Tendency: An Extension of Freud's Concept of Tendentious Humor." Humor 1.4 (1988): 335-347. Oring, Elliot. "Humor and the suppression of sentiment." Humor 7.1 (1994): 7-26. Parker, Alexander A. Literature and the Dilinquent: The Picaresque Novel in Spain and Europe, 1599-1753. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1977 (orig. 1967). Paulson, Ronald. The Fictions of Satire. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1967. Pietzker, Carl. "Das Groteske." Deutsche Vierteljahresschrift für Literaturwissenschaft und Geistesgeschichte 45.2 (1971): 197-211. Preisendanz, Wolfgang. Humor als dichterische Einbildungskraft: Studien zur Erzählkunst des poetischen Realismus. München: Eidos, 1963. Preisendanz, Wolfgang and Rainer Warnung, eds. Das Komische. München: Fink, 1976. Relihan, Joel C. Ancient Menippean Satire. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1993. Richter, Jean Paul Friedrich. Vorschule der Ästhetik. Ed. Norbert Miller. Hamburg: Meiner, 1990. Richter, Rolf. "Probleme der sozialistischen Satire (erläutert am Beispiel ihrer Stellung in der russischen Sowjetliteratur von 1953-1961)." Habil. Ernst-Moritz-Arndt U Greifswald, 1968. Rico, Francisco. La novela picaresca y el punto de vista. Rev. and exp. ed. Barcelona: Seix Barral, 2000 (orig. 1969). Rose, Margaret A. Parody: Ancient, Modern and Post-Modern. Cambridge, England: Cambridge UP, 1993. Schiller, Friedrich. "Über naive und sentimentalische Dichtung." Werke und Briefe. Vol. 8. Ed. Rolf-Peter Janz, et al. Frankfurt a. M.: Deutscher Klassiker, 1992. Schopenhauer, Arthur. Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung. Vol. 1 and 2. Stuttgart: Cotta, 1976 (orig. 1960). Schwarz, Egon. "Utopisches im Volksmärchen." Utopieforschung. Vol. 3. Ed. Wilhelm Vosskamp. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1985. 394-410. Seeber, Hans Ulrich. "Zur Geschichte des Utopiebegriffs." Literarische Utopien von Morus bis zur Gegenwart. Ed. Klaus L. Berghahn and Hans Ulrich Seeber. Königstein/Taunus: Athenäum, 1983. 7-23. Sherbert, Garry. Menippean Satire and the Poetics of Wit: Ideologies of SelfConsciousness in Dunton, D'Urfey, and Sterne. New York: Lang, 1996. Stam, Robert. Subversive Pleasures: Bakhtin, Cultural Criticism and Film. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1989.

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Sutton-Smith, Brian. The Ambiguity of Play. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard UP, 1997. Test, George A. Satire: Spirit and Art. Tampa: U of South Florida, 1991. Titze, Michael and Christof T. Eschenröder. Therapeutischer Humor: Grundlagen und Anwendungen. Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1998. Vischer, Friedrich Theodor. Ästhetik oder Wissenschaft des Schönen. München: Meyer & Jessen, 1922. Vischer, Friedrich Theodor. Über das Erhabene und Komische. Ein Beitrag zu der Philosophie des Schönen. Stuttgart: Imle & Krauss, 1837. Weitz, Morris. "The Role of Theory in Aesthetics." Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 15.9 (1956): 27-35. Welsford, Enid. The Fool: His Social and Literary History. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1961. Wicks, Ulrich. Picaresque Narrative, Picaresque Fictions: A Theory and Research Guide. New York: Greenwood, 1989. Zijderveld, Anton C. Reality in a Looking-Glass: Rationality through an Analysis of Traditional Folly. London et al.: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1982.

7. Other Literary and Cultural History and Theory Adam, Peter. Art of the Third Reich. New York: Abrams, 1992. Allen, Ann Taylor. Feminism and Motherhood in Germany 1800-1914. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers UP, 1991. Assmann, Aleida and Jan. "Kollektives Gedächtnis und kulturelle Identität." Kultur und Gedächtnis. Ed. Jan Assmann and Tonio Hölscher. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1988. 9-19. Bakhtin, Mikhail. Problems of Dostoevsky's Poetics. Ed. and trans. Caryl Emerson. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1984. ---. The Dialogic Imagination. Ed. Micheal Holquist. Trans. Caryl Emerson and Micheal Holquist. Austin: U of Texas P, 1990. Baldick, Chris. The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms. Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 1990. Bhabha, Homi K, ed. Nation and Narration. London and New York: Routledge, 1990. Brauneck, Manfred, ed. Autorenlexikon deutschsprachiger Literatur des 20. Jahrhunderts, 2nd rev. and exp. ed. Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt, 1995 (orig. 1984). Butler, Judith. Bodies that Matter: On the Discursive Limits of Sex. New York: Routledge, 1993. Bürger, Peter. Theorie der Avantgarde. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1974.

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Cixous, Hélène. "Schreiben, Feminität, Veränderung." alternative 108/109 (1976): 134-147. Deiritz, Karl and Hannes Krauss. Verrat an der Kunst? Rückblicke auf die DDR-Literatur. Berlin: Aufbau, 1993. "Die Sage um die Mittagsfrau." Infoportal zu Hoyerswerda. 2001. Art Effective. 30 January 2006 . Donahue, P.and E. Quandahl. Reclaiming Pedagogy: The Rhetoric of the Classroom. Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern Illinois UP, 1989. Döbler, Katharina. "Schnupfen." Die Zeit 18 May 2000, 55. Duden Deutsches Universalwörterbuch. 2nd rev. ed. Mannheim: Duden, 1989. Elfe, Wolfgang D. and James Hardin, eds. "Contemporary German Fiction Writers." Dictionary of Literary Biography. Second Series 75 (1988): 30-35. Elster, Jon. Sour Grapes: Studies in the Subversion of Rationality. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge UP, 1983. Etlin, Richard A., ed. Art, Culture, and Media Under the Third Reich. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2002. Fishman, Silvia Barack. Follow My Footprints: Changing Images of Women in American Jewish Fiction. Hanover, NH and London: Brandeis UP, 1992. Fowler, Roger, ed. A Dictionary of Modern Critical Terms. Rev. ed. London and New York: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1987. Freud, Sigmund. Civilization and its Discontents. Trans. Joan Riviere. London: Hogarth, 1957. Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1957. Gilman, Sander. Jewish Self-Hatred: Anti-Semitism and the Hidden Language of the Jews. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins UP, 1986. ---. Rasse, Sexualität und Seuche. Stereotype aus der Innenwelt der westlichen Kultur. Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1992. Groys, Boris. The Total Art of Stalinism: Avant-Garde, Aesthetic Dictatorship, and Beyond. Trans. Charles Rougle. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1992. Handelman, Don. Models and Mirrors: Towards an Anthropology of Public Events. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1990. Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich. Phänomenologie des Geistes. Ed. Johannes Hoffmeister. Hamburg: Meiner, 1952. Hilzinger, Sonja. Christa Wolf. Stuttgart: Metzler, 1986. Jankowsky, Karen. "'German' Literature Contested: The 1991 IngeborgBachmann-Prize Debate, 'Cultural Diversity,' and Emine Sevgi Özdamar." The German Quarterly 70.3 (1997) 261-276. Janssen, Ludwig, ed. Literatur-Atlas NRW: Ein Adreßbuch zur Literaturszene. Köln: Volksblatt, 1992. Jens, Walter. Kindlers Neues Literaturlexikon. München: Kindler, 1990.

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